


Lilac Wine

by miamoretti



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS AU, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan Fluff, Captain Swan AU - Freeform, Captain Swan AU Month, Captain Swan AU Week, Celebrity AU, F/M, captain swan celebrity au, cs au week, musician au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 75,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miamoretti/pseuds/miamoretti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CS AU: Emma Swan is an international popstar who goes off the grid following a very public and messy breakup with her now-former manager, Neal. Killian Jones works at a countryside hotel owned by his brother in the rural English village where Emma chooses to hide out. They find themselves drawn to each other, but what will happen when Neal refuses to accept Emma leaving him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!  
> So, I wrote a prompt a couple weeks back, and when I happened upon it again, my muse went crazy and my hand slipped...and I started writing it! Oops.  
> This is a CS Celebrity!AU, and I've never written anything THIS AU before, so I hope I do okay!  
> The first chapter is just basically setting up background for Emma. The second chapter will focus on setting up background for Killian and we'll go from there. So stick with me, I'm just laying the foundations now!  
> I have no idea how long this will be yet, but I have a rough plan in my head. Until Hannah inspires me and I end up adding new plot twists in, of course!

There were certain aspects of fame that Emma Swan, international popstar, knew she would never be okay with. Despite the fact that she loved making music and some parts of the lifestyle weren't exactly a hardship (never having to worry about money was certainly a perk), she'd considered making a clean break and giving it all up on more than one occasion.

She never knew whom she could and couldn't trust, so there were very few people she'd ever fully opened up to, Because of this, her intuition was very finely tuned and she became very good at reading people. She had two best friends, Ruby and August, whom she swore knew her better than she knew herself. She could be herself around them; no façade, no fake smiles, no pretence.

Another thing Emma found difficult about life in the public eye was the lack of privacy. She didn't cope well with people prying into her personal life or splashing speculations all over magazine covers. She'd grown up in the foster system until she was twelve years old, when Eva and Leopold Blanchard had taken her in, so privacy was something she'd always treasured. It was a luxury in a group home, but it was something all the kids there clung to.

Mary Margaret, her adoptive sister, had become the person she was closest to out of everyone in her life, and Mary Margaret's high school sweetheart, David, had always been like a big brother to her. The two girls had been amicable when Emma first arrived, but it was only really when their mother passed away in their late teen years that their bond had strengthened. Their father had spiralled into depression for a few years following Eva's death and the two had leaned on each other for support. Since then, they'd remained inseparable and had moved together from their small town in Maine to Southern California for college.

At nineteen, just a few weeks shy of her twentieth birthday and the third anniversary of Eva's passing, Emma had decided on a whim to take part in a college talent show that the Music and Performance majors were putting together. Mary Margaret – who was majoring in Education – had encouraged her, though neither had known that a talent scout was sitting in on auditions and that her last minute decision to take part would lead her to being signed, just weeks later, to a big name record label in Los Angeles.

From there, her rise to stardom was a whirlwind and, at first, Emma struggled to adjust to people recognizing her in the street or accosting her at Whole Foods. She found herself hiding away in the recording studio more and more, just to avoid the inevitable recognition by well-meaning fans on the street. It wasn't that she disliked people being starstruck and gushing over how much they loved her music, quite the opposite in fact. It was simply a case of feeling awkward and uncomfortable in a situation she hadn't yet been schooled on how to handle.

For most of her childhood in the system she'd been used to being ignored, and now everyone knew her name. She'd been a little ugly duckling that nobody wanted, and now she'd blossomed into a beautiful swan and people were falling over themselves to be near her. It was more than a little unnerving.

So locking herself away in the studio and immersing herself in songwriting became her safe place. It also meant she spent a lot of time with her manager, Neal, and they became very close, very quickly. He wasn't phased by the screaming fans or how much money she made, because he'd grown up in the industry, with his father owning the record label Emma was signed to.

She felt safe with Neal. Even if it was something as seemingly minor as him fending off the paparazzi cameras shoved in her face, or sheltering her from people who didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with manhandling her, Neal became someone she relied on to guide her through her newfound fame and all the tricky situations that came along with it.

Mary Margaret and David had repeatedly warned her to be careful when it came to Neal. He was her _manager_ , and if things went south, it could become very difficult for her to separate her private life and her work life. Not that there was very much separating the two anyway. Emma had waved away their concerns and changed the subject, but she'd known the topic would be raised again before long.

Ruby and August visited regularly, and even Ruby, who was usually quick to see the good in everyone, had her reservations about Neal. August had always been overly protective of Emma, since they'd grown up in the same group home, so he'd had reservations about every guy she'd ever dated.

"I don't know, Ems. I just don't trust him. He's been great showing you the ropes of being a hot shot popstar and all, sure…but I just think it's a bit of a risk getting involved with him."

Ruby had warned her as they'd sat eating Chinese food curled up in front of the TV in Emma's living room one evening. She'd turned and assured the brunette that they were _not_ , in fact, involved. They were just good friends.

"Well, you know who really obviously wants to be more than just good friends with you? And who also seems like a _really_ great guy who wouldn't have the option of ruining your career if things went bad? Graham."

Emma's eyebrows had shot up at Ruby's suggestion and she'd almost choked on her noodles. Graham was her guitarist. He was sweet and quiet and extremely talented…and his accent was almost as cute as he was. Emma shook her head. She told Ruby, in no uncertain terms, that she didn't want to get involved _period_.

She was quite alright on her own. It was much easier that way, especially considering how much media attention had surrounded her the one time she'd just grabbed lunch in Downtown LA with August. The following day, she'd been in all the magazines, with lots of speculation over her "mystery man".

She'd laughed about it with Ruby, August and Mary Margaret over breakfast, but Neal had stormed into the studio later that morning and yelled at her for being 'careless' and 'provoking unwanted media attention'. He'd made her cry and left to cool down, returning an hour later with apologies for overreacting and her favorite slushee.

Things had remained tense between them for a couple days, but it was all quickly forgotten when Emma's first hit went platinum and he turned up at her place with a bottle of champagne and a huge smile.

When he'd tentatively leaned in and kissed her on her sofa that night, her head fuzzy with the alcohol and high on the adrenaline of her achievement, she'd ignored all the alarm bells and warnings from her friends sounding at the back of her mind and kissed him back.

They'd slept together and in the morning she'd found him in her kitchen, pancakes, fruit salad and a steaming cup of coffee ready for her. He'd kissed her neck as she ate breakfast and then they'd showered together, both avoiding the question of where exactly things would go with them from there.

She kept their night together a secret from her sister and her friends, knowing exactly what they'd say and unwilling to sit through a lecture or see the concern and disapproval on their faces.

She told herself that they didn't know Neal the way she did. They hadn't spent much time with him, so of course they were wary. He didn't have the best track record with women, but she tried not to be bothered by the fact that he'd dated almost every one of his artists over the years.

At first, they kept their relationship between the two of them, both agreeing to tell no one. That was working fine until Ruby – who Emma had totally forgotten had a key to her place – had turned up for a surprise visit and caught them in the pool together…minus their swimwear.

After that, they had no choice but the come clean to her friends and her sister about the fact that they'd been sleeping together for the best part of two months. Ruby tried to be positive about it, but Mary Margaret had been more than a little angry, mostly with Neal.

"You're taking advantage, Neal!" she'd accused, "She's barely twenty one and you're ten years older than her. She's naïve, and she _trusted_ you to look out for her. _I_ trusted you to look out for her. You're taking advantage of that trust and this is all gonna end in tears."

Mary Margaret and Emma hadn't spoken for weeks following the altercation with Neal, and with Ruby and August returning to the East coast, she'd felt particularly isolated. Neal had assured her that it would all blow over, and after a while, it did. Things got better and Mary Margaret grudgingly agreed to be civil with Neal, though she made it very clear to her sister that she didn't like him.

It took a little longer than any of them had expected for the media to get wind of the relationship between Emma and Neal, but when the story broke, they'd had plenty time to brace themselves for the sheer amount of attention it generated. Emma found herself shrinking even further away from the spotlight, passing on most of the premieres and award shows she was invited to.

That was, until Mr. Gold, Neal's father and the owner of the record label Emma was signed to, paid her a visit one afternoon at the recording studio. He was polite and professional, but he told her, in no uncertain terms, that she _would_ attend award shows and she _would_ get used to being in the spotlight. It wasn't good for the image of his label if its stars were so 'antisocial'.

She'd reluctantly agreed, and had turned up to the next red carpet event with pre-prepared fake smiles and Neal on her arm. She'd spent most of the evening with her nails digging into Neal's arm through his tux, trying her best not to flinch when a thousand camera flashes blinded her at once.

She'd been more than relieved when the evening was over, and had retreated to the comforting, quiet safety of her house. Neal had accompanied her home, of course, but had made excuses as to why he wouldn't be staying the night.

The first time she thought nothing of it, but over the following couple of months he began disappearing more regularly. At first he'd had a variety of excuses. He was up early for a meeting. Or he was scouting new talent and had lots of paperwork to get on top of. Or simply, he was tired and wanted to get home. Over the months, she began to expect the excuses, until he finally gave up the effort and simply kissed her goodnight.

Part of her was angry and frustrated at the way he blew hot and cold with her, but there was a small part that was too fearful of losing him to challenge his behavior. They'd ended up in blazing arguments the few times she'd brought it up, and it took a while for her to agree with her sister when Mary Margaret told her she deserved better.

On their second anniversary, when Neal stood her up at the restaurant he'd booked for them a week previously, Emma had reached her breaking point. She'd made enough excuses for him over their two years together. Leaving the restaurant and narrowly avoiding a gaggle of photographers hanging around on the corner waiting for her, she'd ducked into her car and headed for home, determined that she was done with it all.

She didn't know where he was, or whom he was with, and she didn't want to know. All the magazines would answer those questions anyway, because they seemed to know more about her love life than she did.

The only thing she had on her mind as she headed for home was booking the first flight out of LA and going off the grid for a little while. She'd find a place no one had heard of, somewhere quaint and out of the way, and she'd disappear until her name was just a vague memory and her face was no longer plastered all over every magazine in the city.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This turned out waaaaay angsty-er than I anticipated, but I went with it.  
> Also, I watched Signs and I may or may not have lifted some lines from it (from the part where Mel Gibson's wife died), so please accept this as a disclaimer and don't sue me.

Killian Jones had spent the best part of four years trying to decide what to do with his life, and working at his brother Liam's renovated manor house hotel, Jewel of the Realm, in the rolling hills of the English Midland countryside while he did so.

Straight out of university, at 21 years old, Killian had moved to London to chase a job opportunity and a girl. Milah had been on his marine engineering course – one of only seven girls on a hugely male-dominated course – and she'd caught his eye right from the beginning. Though he'd never had any trouble charming the ladies with his cheeky smile, enchanting blue eyes and mischievous sense of humor, he found Milah somewhat of a challenge.

When he found out from his friend, who may or may not have been put up to a little bit of snooping, that she was dating someone, he'd been rather disheartened. But a few weeks later, at a party they both happened to have been dragged to by their friends, she'd struck up conversation with him over the punch bowl. By the end of the night they were making out in a closet and he knew he was in trouble.

For the rest of their three years at university, they were inseparable. He was madly in love with her, and his brother's girlfriend, Jane, often teased him for being so smitten.

" _Killy, you look at her as though she hung the moon."_

Jane would laugh and Killian glared at her, knowing he couldn't really argue with that. She always had been able to read him like a book. Killian and Liam's mother had died in childbirth and after their father abandoned them, Liam had raised his younger brother himself. Jane had always been somewhat of a maternal figure to Killian, despite not being all that much older than him.

Upon graduating, Milah had moved back to live closer to her parents on the South coast and Killian had followed shortly after, with the dazzling opportunity of a Junior Technical Superintendant job in Marine Operations waiting for him there. Everything was working out perfectly and they spent two years making a life together. They'd bought a house, got engaged…

And then the accident happened.

It was a Tuesday like any other. 6pm. Killian had just returned home from work and was somewhat surprised to find the house empty. Milah usually arrived back before him, but he shrugged it off and figured she must have been held up.

By 8pm, with no word from her, he was worrying.

By 10pm, he'd tried her cell phone twelve times, called her workplace and her best friend. Nothing. No one had heard from her. His stomach was in knots and he was about to resort to driving round town looking for her when he saw the flashing blue lights of a cop car pulling over across the street.

His heart had stuttered, instinctively knowing his worst fears were about to become a reality. Feeling the coldbumps rising on his arms and the twisting of anxiety in his gut making him feel like he was about to throw up, he rushed out to meet them, silently pleading with a God he wasn't even sure he believed in to let her be alright.

The grave expressions on both of the cops' faces told him that his world was about to fall apart. They requested he go with them immediately, and that they would explain everything on the way. One of the cops, a woman who reminded Killian of Milah's mother, had accompanied him in the back of the car and held his hand as she gently informed him of what had happened.

Milah had been driving home from work, a little late because of diversions and heavy traffic, when a truck driver on the opposite side of the road had suffered a massive heart attack at the wheel. He'd drifted straight across four lanes and caused a massive pileup, taking out Milah's car and two others in the process. Milah had appeared to be the most stable out of the casualties, but her car was crushed in the most difficult position.

The middle-aged couple in one of the other cars had died on impact and the pregnant woman with her husband and young child in the second car were prioritized. They'd been air lifted first, while the rescue team had waited on the heavy machinery needed to cut Milah free from the wreckage.

When they'd cut away the frame of the car, allowing better access for the emergency medics, her stable condition was revealed to be anything but a good sign. She was wedged into her seat by a metal frame panel that had been shunted forwards by the force of impact and crushed the entire bottom half of her body.

Though she appeared stable and alert while the metal frame remained where it was, it was clear to the medics that Milah would not survive once it was removed. The moment they released her from the wreckage, toxins would fly through her system and stop her heart. They quickly asked her who she would like them to call, and immediately dispatched officers to pick up Killian and return him to the scene as quickly as possible.

As they tried to explain to her, as gently as possible, why they had stopped removing parts of the car to get her out, Milah had panicked and tried frantically to free herself. They did their best to talk her down, and by the time Killian arrived, dazed and drained of color, she was quietly crying but all the fight had left her.

He'd rushed over to be by her side, the policewoman's words resounding in his head as his eyes drifted over the wreckage.

" _I need to prepare you for what you're going to see when we get there, Mr. Jones. Your fiancée…she's been involved in an accident involving a truck and two other cars. She's…she's pinned into her car at the moment. The truck…it hit her car first and the impact has severed most of her lower half. She won't be saved. Her body is pinned in such a way that it's alive when it shouldn't be. And the car is holding her together."_

_There were tears in the woman's eyes as she gripped his hand tightly. He'd simply stared at her, numb and dizzy with his body trembling with shock, and she'd continued._

" _She doesn't feel much, and she's awake, and talking. The rescue team hasn't released her yet though…you'll be with her for that. She…she won't be awake for very long when they do. Do you understand what I'm telling you, Mr. Jones?"_

The sight of Milah, tears streaking down her cheeks and dried blood staining the side of her face, stole the air from his lungs. His chest felt like a vacuum as he took hold of her hand and she cried out his name.

He swallowed hard, eyes locked on her face, trying to ignore the chaos surrounding them and the fact that a metal panel was the only thing holding her together. He whispered her name and told her over and over that he loved her; pressing kisses to her knuckles and silently praying for more time.

But he could see her fading away in front of his eyes. She was shivering, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms the way he had done so many nights before. But not like this. Never like this.

He'd pleaded with her to hold on, stretched over what was left of the car's doorframe and pressed desperate kisses to her lips. She'd leaned into his kiss, heartbroken sobs falling against his lips as she grew weaker by the second.

An agonized cry ripped from him as he felt her slip away, his hands in her hair as he pleaded, again and again, for her not to leave him. But her eyes glazed over as he held her, his tears and her blood soaking his shirt, and just like that, his world had fallen apart at the seams.

That night had never left him. The horror and surreal agony of it all had invaded his sleep and even years later he still sometimes awoke in a cold sweat, the memories painfully vivid and still so raw.

In the months following Milah's death, Killian had gone through the motions, but he was completely numb. Their friends had rallied around to take care of him, and on the outside he'd appeared to be coping incredibly well. But inside, he struggled to feel anything other than crushing loss.

On what should have been their wedding day, something inside him finally snapped. He needed to move as far away from the southern coastal town as he physically could. Every street, every park bench and every broken sidewalk reminded him of Milah, and he was slowly dying a little more each day he spent surrounded by the life they'd had.

He'd put everything in order, quit his job and moved to live further north with his brother in the beautiful countryside of Worcestershire. Liam had spent many years rebuilding and renovating a large manor house, turning it into a stunning yet relatively modest hotel. Over the summer seasons, business was fantastic, which allowed for him to limit availability out-of-season and take off on jaunts around Europe with Jane.

When Killian moved in, Liam asked no questions, allowing him space and knowing that if his brother wanted to talk about it, he would. Of course, he knew most of the details of what had happened, thanks to media coverage, but he chose not to talk about it unless Killian was the one to bring it up.

Months had quickly turned into years and the pain of losing Milah slowly ebbed away. Or perhaps, Killian mused, he'd just become so used to the aching emptiness of life without her that it didn't cut right to the bone anymore. He was sure it would never truly leave him, and Milah would _always_ be a part of him no matter how many years passed, but he had slowly started to live again.

He often remembered the first time he'd laughed again after the accident, and the guilt that had cursed through him when he'd realized that something had momentarily broken through the haze of grief, just four months after he'd lost her.

He didn't laugh again for quite a while after that, until he slowly began to realize that _he_ was still alive, and by stumbling through the rest of his years in a grey cloud of misery, he was defacing the beautiful memory of her.

He chose to start remembering the good things, instead of letting his pain overshadow the precious memories they'd made in their years together. He remembered her laugh most of all.

Milah's laugh had always lit up the room, at least for him, and he had always likened it to music. The lilts and lifts of it had warmed his heart and effortlessly brought a smile to his face. He also remembered the way her eyes changed color with the weather, grey to blue and everything in between.

And by opening his heart to the warmth of good memories, he finally found peace with moving on. It had taken four years to get to that point, but he finally felt ready to start a new chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm going to England. I don't know where yet. Just… _not_ London."

Emma had booked the first flight out of LAX, packed everything she could fit into one suitcase and called Mary Margaret on her way out of the door. She was aware she wasn't thinking straight and should probably just call Neal so he could explain himself, but she was so _sick_ of his excuses. She was sick of not being in charge of her own life anymore and she needed a change. A big one.

She'd half-expected her sister to talk her down and convince her not to _flee the freaking country_ over a missed anniversary dinner, but to her surprise, Mary Margaret was nothing but supportive and had even put David on the phone to give her the details of a hotel run by 'a friend of a friend' he'd met while travelling around Europe one summer.

With the phone balanced between her shoulder and her ear, she punched the name and telephone number of the hotel into her tablet and thanked David before hurriedly hanging up with promises that she'd call when she landed in England. She also made him swear on her future nieces' and nephews' lives that they wouldn't tell Neal where she was going.

LAX was as bustling as ever, and somewhat daunting without her personal security accompanying her. She grimaced and pulled her snapback down, hating that she'd become so accustomed to such a sheltered life that she felt vulnerable without goddamn personal security guards now.

Thankfully, other than a few stares and some waving and pointing from a handful of pre-teens, she was left alone and most people were too pre-occupied with their own lives and making their flights to pay any attention to a pop-star wandering through LAX on her own.

After checking in (and pointedly avoiding the confused stare from the lady at the check in desk when she informed her she was travelling alone – ' _no, no security guy…'_ ), Emma hurriedly made her way to the departures lounge.

She was grateful that First Class afforded her the luxury of hiding away in the corner of a room with businessmen and a handful of other well-known faces from the showbiz world as they waited to board. Mostly, everyone in first class lounges ignored each other, which was one thing Emma loved about those places.

The wait for the boarding time seemed to last forever and she tried to force herself to stop checking the time. As the minutes passed, she felt the tension in her shoulders easing marginally, knowing that soon she'd be on the opposite side of the world from her mess of a personal life.

_Out of sight, out of mind? Probably not._

She thought with a pang of bitterness. She couldn't help but wonder where Neal was in that moment. At the bar with his friends, too drunk to remember where he was _supposed_ to be? Or perhaps he was with that Tamara girl he'd been so focused on lately. The new girl he'd recently signed to the label.

Emma scowled and chastised herself for the jealousy that girl had brought out in her, but she couldn't help it. How exactly was she meant to feel when her manager – her _boyfriend_ – blew her off, on a handful of occasions, because he was too busy wooing the new signee?

When her flight was finally called, Emma gathered her tote bag and made for the desk where a perfectly made-up attendant smiled brightly – much too brightly for such a late hour – and took her passport. Just as she started down the tunnel toward the plane, she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket and pulled it out to see Neal's caller ID.

With more force than was really required, she quickly declined the call and switched her phone off. Now it was his turn to be in the dark and wonder where the hell _she_ was.

\-------------------

Liam had set off on a Mediterranean cruise with Jane three days earlier and Killian was left in charge of _The_ _Jewel_. It was a routine they were used to, and he quite enjoyed busying himself with the small handful of guests that turned up out of season.

During this time of year, it was mostly older couples staying and they tended to be very low maintenance, mostly using the hotel as a base and often filling their days with trips around the countryside or lake cruises. That generally left Killian alone, which suited him just fine.

When a new booking popped up on the lobby area's computer one particularly slow afternoon, he quirked an eyebrow and opened it with mild interest. There were no specific details; just a name – _E Swan_ – and a telephone number that was decidedly not a UK one.

Noting that the booking was for the next day, Killian copied the details into the guestbook and quickly went to give the suite room he'd assigned to _E. Swan_ a once over and restock the minibar.

It was uncharacteristically warm for October, so Killian spent the rest of his day sitting on the deck outside his room with a book and absently wondering about the mysterious guest with no first name and a foreign telephone number.

\---------------------

By the time the plane landed at London Heathrow, Emma was more than ready for a shower and a full-sized bed. As comfortable as the First Class sleeper booths were, and as thankful as she was that she'd been able to book a direct flight so last minute, she always felt gross when she stepped off long-haul flights. She was used to them, of course, but it didn't mean she enjoyed them.

Shuffling through Arrivals and self-consciously tugging her snapback as far down as possible to try and keep as low profile as she could, Emma waited anxiously to get through immigration and collect her luggage. Forcing a tight smile when the young immigration guy recognized her, drawing the attention of the people in line behind her, she hurried through and made a dash for the luggage carrousel.

Snatching her suitcase at the first available opportunity, Emma breathed a silent sigh of relief when she found no paparazzi cameras waiting outside, just overly-enthused faces awaiting family members and a bunch of bored-looking drivers with nameplates waiting for their bookings.

Inwardly wincing, that was the moment Emma realized she'd forgotten to book a car to get her to this middle-of-nowhere hotel she was so eager to disappear to. Usually her PA, Belle, would have arranged that. But she'd given Belle the night off before she'd left to meet Neal – not anticipating that little over twelve hours later she'd be on the other side of the Atlantic – and now she was stuck. In the middle of Heathrow Airport. During rush hour.

Pulling out her cell phone and switching it on, she found numerous missed calls from Neal and a text from Mary Margaret wishing her luck and reminding her to "CALL ME WHEN YOU LAND. I worry about you". Ignoring them, she scrolled through to find the number she'd saved for the hotel, grateful she'd transferred it to her phone considering her tablet had run out of battery halfway through the flight.

Quickly hitting call, she shuffled to the nearest quiet corner of the airport and waited for someone to pick up her call. Finally, the deliciously lilting accent of a man she guessed was around about her own age answered.

"Jewel of The Realm, Killian Jones speaking. How can I help you?"

Emma bit her lip, his name repeating in her head. It was unusual; she liked it.

"Hi, erm, Killian? My name's Emma…I have a reservation with you. My flight just landed at London Heathrow…"

She paused and cursed herself again for overlooking car transport. She'd never driven on the other side of the road, and she had no idea where she was going so she knew she wouldn't trust herself to simply hire a car.

"That's quite a distance from our hotel, Emma with no last name. Do you have transport?"

Killian commented, and she could _hear_ his smile. Sighing, she let out a short, self-deprecating laugh, wondering if she'd be able to atone for the 'dumb American' persona she'd already managed to present less than a minute into speaking to this stranger.

"Sorry, my last name is Swan. I booked under E. Swan? And no, I don't have transport. I booked my flight last minute and I usually have my…erm, someone to sort this stuff out for me. So, I _may_ have overlooked this _minor_ detail," she laughed again, "Does your hotel, by any chance, send cars? I have no idea where you are in relation to the airport."

There was a pause across the line before he asked her to 'hang on a sec' and she couldn't help but smile at how frightfully British that sounded on him. Part of her hoped that he wouldn't know who she was when she arrived at his hotel (if she _ever_ arrived at his hotel), because she got the distinct feeling that this guy was quite likeable, and often people got weird when they realized she was famous.

Waiting impatiently and avoiding the intense stares from people milling around in Arrivals, she was relieved when his voice came back on the line.

"Hi, Ms. Swan? We don't have any cars or minibuses out of season...but I've got two options for you."

Emma's heart sank slightly at first and she perched on the corner of her suitcase in defeat. But her ears pricked up quickly and she smiled. This guy would definitely be getting tipped well.

"Go on, I'm listening. And please, call me Emma."

"Right, Emma. So, I just checked the trains for you and you can either get one from Paddington station to Worcester – takes about two and a half hours – and I can pick you up when you get to this end…or, you can go find a bar, have a couple of drinks and relax while I drive down to get you. Not a service we usually offer, but-"

"Oh my god, you are an actual living angel. I have no idea where I am or how to get around and I would _so_ appreciate you coming to get me!"

Emma was near tears with the relief that washed over her, knowing she didn't have to fumble her way across London and figure out trains as well now. He told her to note down his cell phone number and to text it to let him know where she'd be waiting for him, which she quickly agreed to. Relief and exhaustion vying for dominance, Emma thanked him again.

"Right you are. I'll be there in less than 3 hours, hopefully. Unless I get stuck in traffic, but I'll keep you updated. See you soon, Emma."

He hung up and Emma stuffed her phone into her jacket before ducking her head and making for the exit with a smile on her face. Whoever this Killian Jones was, he was clearly her guardian angel.


	4. Chapter 4

Killian sighed. He didn't know what it was about the girl with the pretty name and even prettier voice, but he'd felt inclined to go above and beyond to help her out. And now he'd roped himself into driving to London, in rush hour, to pickup a stranger. She could be a serial killer, for all he knew. Chuckling, he brushed that notion away. She certainly didn't _sound_ like a serial killer.

But her voice did sound familiar, and he couldn't place it. Maybe she did voiceovers or something. Or maybe he'd just watched too many American sitcoms and they all sounded the same to him?

Shrugging, he jotted a quick note down to leave on the front desk to explain his absence for the evening before heading out. Luckily the only guests were regulars (so regular now that they referred to him by his pet name, Killy) so he was sure they'd have no issue with him disappearing for a while. They knew the hotel as well as he did, so if they needed anything they'd usually forgo asking and get it themselves anyway.

Putting his car in drive and rolling down his window, he was thankful it was a balmy night and that he didn't have to make an unexpected six-hour roundtrip in the pouring rain.

With his radio turned up and the roads surprisingly clear most of the way, all the midweek traffic heading _away_ from London, he made good time and quite enjoyed what could have ended up being a very tedious journey.

When he neared West Drayton, he pulled over at a rest stop to check his phone, not wanting to get caught up in Heathrow traffic if she'd jumped a taxi somewhere else. A small smile lifted the corner of his lips as he saw a text from a +1 number.

_Hi, Killian. It's Emma._  
 _I'm at the Hilton Hotel near the airport._  
 _I hope your journey hasn't been too bad. I owe you a drink. Maybe not before the drive back though._  
 _See you soon. E._

Killian chuckled and quickly tapped out a reply.

_Hi, Emma. Killian here._  
 _I'll be twenty minutes and I'll take you up on that drink offer when we get back, though I'm not sure it counts if it's from my own bar! ;) K._

He quickly pressed send and then winced, hoping she didn't read it as too flirty or inappropriate with the winking emoji on the end. They hadn't even met yet, and he certainly wasn't in the habit of sending texts to women he didn't know with winking emojis.

' _God, Killian.'_

He muttered, rolling his eyes at himself as he pulled out into traffic and headed east with his mind conjuring a mental image of this mysterious Emma Swan he'd driven down the country for at a moment's notice.

\---------------------

Emma had jumped into a taxi outside Arrivals and quickly put on her oversized sunglasses, despite the fact that the early evening sun was close to setting and it certainly wasn't bright enough to warrant sunglasses. But she was doing all she could to avoid being recognized, considering she'd be a sitting duck in a hotel for at least 3 hours.

She told to driver to go to the closest Hilton, knowing that there had _always_ seemed to be a Hilton in close proximity to every airport she'd been to. And she'd been to a lot of airports.

The driver had done a double take in his mirror, eyes widening when he apparently recognized her, but he simply nodded and swung the car around. Despite the looks he kept sneaking in his mirror at her, she appreciated that he didn't ask for her autograph or try to strike up conversation.

Tipping him well and offering him a warm smile as he pulled up a few short minutes later in front of the Hilton, she hurried into the lobby and glanced around for elevators.

A suited young woman with a Hilton Hotel name badge on her breast pocket announcing that her name was Lauren approached with a painted-on smile. When Emma slid her glasses down her nose slightly, the girl gave a start but quickly regained her composure.

"Oh, erm…Ms. Swan? Shall I have your bag taken to your room?"

Emma shook her head and looked around conspirationally, taking the girl's arm and tugging her to the side of the lobby.

"I don't have a booking…and I need you to do me a favor, Lauren" at the girl's eager nod she continued, "I want to stay as under-the-radar as possible. Do you have a room that I can, like, hide out in for the next few hours? I'll pay for a night but I just need it for about three hours."

She took the girl's hand and slipped her credit card into her palm, watching as her eyes went wide. She blinked a few times before nodding toward the reception desk.

"I can go make a reservation right now for you. Is it a suite you'd like?"

"Any. Single, double, suite. Whatever you have available. I won't be staying the night, I just…I need to keep a low profile and that's kinda hard sitting in a hotel bar, y'know?"

The girl nodded again, excusing herself to walk as inconspicuously yet quickly as she could over to the reception desk, which she leaned over to speak to her colleague, before returning a few moments later and gesturing to the elevator.

Emma walked over to her and she held out a keycard and the credit card Emma had slipped her, whispered "room 390 on the fifth floor" and gave her a warm smile, nodding toward the elevator she'd already called. Emma slid a £50 note into her hand and thanked her quietly, slipping into the elevator and breathing a long sigh of relief as the doors rolled closed.

She'd managed to avoid being spotted by _too_ many people, and she was hoping she'd manage to stay out of the magazines. Because Neal would surely be chasing up with his contacts to find her, and if she could just keep her head down for a little while longer, he'd have nothing to go on.

Locking the door behind her, she shrugged off her jacket, threw her snapback and glasses onto the side-table and moved to sit down on the plush sofa in the living room area. She grabbed the TV remote and kicked off her shoes, a long sigh passing her lips as she searched for the movie channels. If she had to waste three hours, she knew there were plenty movies that would do the job.

And she was right. By the time she'd finished watching The Princess Bride, she'd already killed over an hour and a half and could feel her stomach grumbling. It was just after 7pm and she was debating whether to order room service when her phone vibrated.

Frowning, she picked it up from the table and was surprised to see a message from Killian. Skimming over the message, she smiled. He'd made very good time if he was only twenty minutes away.

She wasted a few minutes gathering her belongings and switched off the TV, making sure everything in the room was as pristine as it had been when she walked in, before she headed for the door and slowly made her way down to the lobby.

She realized in the elevator that she had absolutely no idea what this Killian Jones guy looked like, and she didn't exactly want to approach any man who happened to cast a pointed glance her way. Digging her phone out of her pocket, she pulled up her messages and typed one out.

_Killian, I just realized that I have no idea what you look like or what car to look out for. Let me know what you're driving and your license plate number. I'll wait out front._ _E._

She'd hoped to dive out of the lobby and straight into his car the moment he pulled up but she knew that scenario was highly unlikely considering she had a rather large and heavy suitcase, and she didn't know what car she was supposed to be diving into. Luckily, he responded quickly.

_I'm in a black Toyota RAV4, number plate ending in KEJ._  
 _ETA three minutes._  
 _K._

Emma smiled, noting the lack of winking emojis and wondering if it would be bad form to tease him about that when they were only just about to meet. Slipping her phone back in her pocket, she rolling her case to the edge of the drop-off and pick-up bay, making sure to stand off to the side and avoid crashing into anyone. No good making a scene when she'd managed to keep on the downlow so well thus far.

Catching sight of a black SUV approaching, her eyes flickered to the number plate and her heart jumped. KEJ. It was him.

She waited until he rolled into the bay and jumped out of the car, ignoring the way her stomach dropped when she caught sight of him. He was _gorgeous_.

She'd only been afforded a quick glance as he jumped out and rounded to back of the car to pop the trunk for her, but when she finally stood in front of him, a pair of incredible, too-blue-to-be-legal eyes twinkling down at her as he offered her a grin and extended his hand, her breath caught in her throat.

She looked down at his hand dumbly for a moment before offering him a warm smile as she took it.

"Emma, I take it? I'm Killian. Very nice to meet you."

She faltered for a moment, hoping that the complete lack of recognition in his expression was for real. It had been a while since she'd met anyone by chance that didn't immediately know who she was. She sincerely hoped he wasn't just overlooking it out of politeness.

"Killian, I can't thank you enough for driving down here. Seriously, you've saved my life."

He smiled that disarming smile of his again and gestured to the car.

"It's nothing, honestly. Shall we head back? I didn't stop to grab dinner, so I was thinking-"

"I'm starving, so I'm definitely liking whatever you're thinking. And dinner's on me."

His smile widened and he laughed lightly with a succinct nod of thanks. Once they were in the car and pulling out of the parking lot, he turned to her.

"So, Emma. I know we've just met and all, but where would you like to take me for dinner?"


	5. Chapter 5

Well, Emma Swan certainly lived up to the beauty of her name, Killian mused as he pulled up outside the Hilton and caught sight of whom he assumed was his mystery guest. The blonde who was hurrying towards his car and pointedly avoiding eye contact with concierges – or, well, anyone really – was quite the stunner.

Even dressed simply in dark blue skinny jeans – that clung to her long legs in _all_ the right ways – a plain, off-the-shoulder black top and red leather jacket, she was still a sight to behold. Her long hair fell in golden waves over her shoulders but she had a snapback cap and huge sunglasses obscuring most of her face.

He immediately jumped out, leaving the car running and popping the trunk as he waited for her to reach him. Once she'd helped hoist her case into the trunk, she removed her sunglasses (really, why on earth was she wearing sunglasses in the evening?) and all other thoughts immediately disappeared from his head.

He found himself staring into the most beautiful green eyes he'd ever seen, his heart stumbling in his chest before he quickly composed himself and offered her a dazzling smile. Instinctively, he extended his hand in greeting, feeling slightly awkward considering he felt like he knew this stranger already.

Her eyes left his then and dropped to stare at his outstretched hand as though she'd never seen such a greeting. He felt somewhat relieved that she seemed to have been thrown just as off-kilter as he had and watched as she quickly snapped out of her thoughts, taking his hand and smiling up at him.

' _Wow…'_ he thought breathlessly, ' _that smile could power the hotel for a week._ '

Squeezing her delicate hand briefly he finally found his voice.

"Emma, I take it? I'm Killian. Very nice to meet you."

He saw her smile falter for half a second and he couldn't put his finger on what he saw flash in her eyes. He also couldn't shake the feeling that she was strikingly familiar, somehow. That was impossible, of course, because he knew he would surely have remembered such a beauty if their paths had crossed before.

"Killian, I can't thank you enough for driving down here. Seriously, you've saved my life."

Killian grinned and shook his head, gesturing to the car and putting a bit more space between them. He hadn't felt so instantly drawn to anyone since Milah, and the fact that he'd literally just met this woman and she was already stirring feelings he didn't think he'd ever be capable of feeling again was unnerving him.

"It's nothing, honestly. Shall we head back? I didn't stop to grab dinner, so I was thinking-"

"I'm starving, so I'm definitely liking whatever you're thinking. And dinner's on me."

Free food? Killian Jones would never say no to such an offer. And he could tell that Emma wouldn't take no for an answer, even if he tried. So if she wanted to buy them both dinner as a way of thanking him for driving across the country for her, then who was he to decline?

"So, Emma. I know we've just met and all, but where would you like to take me for dinner?"

\----------------

Big Macs weren't exactly gourmet cuisine, but fast food sated their appetites and afforded them the luxury of staying on the road. Killian had suggested McDonalds and Emma had wholeheartedly agreed. It had been _so_ long since she'd indulged her craving for fried food.

Back home, if there were any big events on the schedule she was often forced to endure 'juice only' days, and even on 'regular' days she didn't find her meal plans particularly appetizing.

She had a funny relationship with food after a turbulent childhood in the system. She never spoke of it, but too many homes she'd lived in before the Blanchards had taken her in had used deprivation tactics as punishments, meaning that from being very young, Emma was often starved. Or worse.

And she'd found that the lifestyles of many in the spotlight mimicked those starvation tactics, but romanticized them and paraded them around as beauty quick fixes. She wasn't surprised that eating disorders were rife among young starlets.

As they hit the highway – or _motorway_ , as he'd called it – Emma watched him out of the corner of her eye. They'd made idle chit chat for the first ten minutes of the journey, mostly discussing where to eat, then they'd made a quick stop at McDonalds. Now, they were sitting in comfortable silence with the low hum of the radio providing some background noise.

"So, Killian Jones," she started, and his gaze flickered over to her briefly, "driving three hours to the airport for your guests doesn't seem like something you make a habit of."

Killian chuckled and flashed her a smile that had butterflies taking flight in her stomach, but she pointedly chose to ignore that fact.

"No, love, I can't say I've done it before. But what can I say? I'm a sucker for coming to the rescue of a damsel in distress."

' _An incredibly beautiful damsel in distress too.'_

He added silently, making sure to keep that afterthought to himself. It wasn't exactly a secret that she was beautiful, he was sure anyone would agree, but voicing that opinion would surely sound like a pick-up line. And with two more hours of being confined to a small space together, such awkwardness was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

His eyes were back on the road now, and she was somewhat glad considering the uninvited rush she felt each time he turned that too-blue gaze on her, but she could still see the small smile on his face.

"And how about you, Emma Swan? What brings you to England? More specifically, why on earth did you choose Worcestershire? You do realize there's _nothing_ to do and our hotel isn't exactly a hive of activity out of season, right?"

She bit her lip and laughed lightly, turning her gaze out of the window and watching as the highway gave way to a more scenic landscape the further they got from London. She could already feel the weight of what she'd left behind in LA lifting from her shoulders.

"That's what I'm counting on," she muttered, taking off her snapback and running a hand through her hair, "I…had a lot going on back home, and I just needed to get away for a little while. I didn't want to be in London; too many people. So the countryside seemed like a good option."

Killian nodded thoughtfully, mulling over her answer. She didn't give much away, but whatever she was keeping to herself was her business. Once again, he had to remind himself that they'd _only just met_ and there was a difference between polite conversation and being nosy. So he steered the conversation back to 'polite'.

"And where is home for you? I mean I know your accent is American but-"

"Los Angeles. I'm originally from Maine, but I moved to California for college and ended up staying for…work."

There was that wavering pause again, and it was only making her more intriguing to him. But she was very clearly a private person, and he had a feeling, from the way she carefully chose her words and a certain something she had about her, that she'd been through a lot in her life. He kept those thoughts to himself, but he couldn't help being curious.

"What about you?" she asked then, clearly eager to steer to conversation away from herself, "What do you do in a place with 'nothing to do'?"

He chuckled as he glanced over at her and saw the teasing smile on her lips. He liked her sass, and he couldn't help but think of Milah.

"I pretty much do nothing. I run the hotel out of season while my brother's away, and I co-run it during high season. I'm a sailor at heart though – did my degree in Marine Engineering, but…well, life sometimes doesn't work out quite the way you plan it."

Emma shifted in her seat, murmuring her agreement, and he could feel her gaze on him. She was studying him, easily reading the flare of raw emotion that crossed his face and becoming more interested by the minute in this insanely handsome man with the come-to-bed eyes that belied a stormier, more painful story than he was giving away.

She recognized that look. It was the look of someone who had survived something many wouldn't, and it drew her to him somehow. She wouldn't deny that he was attractive – and that was putting it mildly – but it was something else about him that had her pulse quickening each time those eyes of his were boring into her own.

The conversation flowed easily then, with Killian turning to the subject of the hotel. He told her about the history of the place, about how his brother had happened upon it when it was nothing but ruins and then spent years fixing it up. He told her that out of season there was really not much going on, and she'd have most of the amenities to herself.

"If you want to book the spa, just gimme 24 hours notice and I'll get someone to come in. They're on flexible hours out of season so they only come in for pre-booked appointments, instead of being around all day when we have no guests."

He told her, and she assured him she'd be low maintenance. He had a feeling she was about to add something else, but she closed her mouth and turned to look out the window.

They'd lapsed into easy silence then for the rest of the journey, with Killian turning up the radio and allowing music to fill the silence. He was surprised how comfortable it felt to be with her without filling the void with small talk, when usually he'd have felt the need to do just that.

Emma had been somewhat enjoying simply listening to music with him, the lull of the slight twists and turns of the country roads soothing her. But as she heard the familiar opening beats of her own song, Emma's heart sank and she could feel the sudden tension in her shoulders.

Darting subtle glances at Killian, she was cautiously relieved to see he looked completely oblivious, head absently nodding along to the beat but seemingly unaware of the fact that the singer on the radio was actually sat right next to him.

As her song ended, Emma felt the urge to quickly reach over and switch channels, just in case her secret was given away, but she saw him move to do just that, and she bit her lip, wondering if she'd gotten lucky. But as his finger hovered over the button, the DJ's overly enthusiastic voice caught his attention and she held her breath.

" _And that was Choose Your Battles from Emma Swan, hanging in there at number one for the eighth consecutive week-"_

Killian blinked in surprise and he pulled his hand back as though he'd been burned. Suddenly, it all made sense. Her cageyness and the way she carefully chose her words, not giving much away; the way her voice had sounded familiar on the phone, and how he'd been so sure he knew her face when he'd first caught sight of her.

Quickly schooling his expression into a mask of nonchalance, he switched off the radio and leaned back in his seat, eyes on the road in front of him as he decided to forget what he'd just heard. In his peripheral vision, he could see her knotting her hands in her lap, head bowed to avoid his eyes contact should he turn his head toward her.

She clearly hadn't planned on making her status known to him, unless she'd assumed he knew who she was and that he was just indifferent about it all. Whatever the reason, he decided he wouldn't mention it if she didn't. After all, she was entitled to her privacy, though he was sure that the little privacy she was afforded was somewhat of a luxury. And she was clearly trying to escape something – or _someone_ – if she'd chosen to flee to Worcester, of all places.

"I know it's pretty late now, but if you want some food or a drink or whatever, I can open the bar. And besides, you _did_ say you owed me drink."

Killian was thankful his voice sounded much more unaffected and lighter than he felt as he finally pulled into the pebbled driveway of the hotel. The last ten minutes of the journey had felt longer than the two hours preceding it, with Emma keeping her head turned to watch out of the window and Killian wishing he was still blissfully ignorant as to who she really was.

The tension that had settled between them since he'd turned the radio off was broken by his words and she turned to meet his gaze as he pulled up and shut off the engine.

She studied him for long seconds and he offered her a small smile, hoping she could read in his eyes that he didn't _care_ what he'd just accidentally heard on the radio, he wasn't going to treat her any differently than he had been doing thus far. They'd been getting on so well before that revelation, and he didn't want her to shut down now because her 'secret' was out.

She seemed to like whatever she did see in his eyes because her shoulders finally relaxed and she smiled back at him.

"Thank you."

She said pointedly, her gaze locked on his, and he knew she was thanking him for more than just the offer of opening the bar. He nodded in understanding, climbing out of the car and moving to get her case out of the trunk.

She followed him up the entrance steps and into the beautiful lobby area that had always been one of Killian's favorite features of the hotel. He rounded the reception desk, taking down the absence note he'd left that afternoon, and quickly pulled up her reservation on the computer to confirm her arrival.

Grabbing the key for her suite, he moved back around the reception desk to pick up her suitcase once more, motioning for her to follow him.

"I've put you in the Lavender Suite. It's overlooking the courtyard and I think you'll like it."

Emma followed him down the hallways, taking in the very impressive décor as she went and once he'd placed her luggage down inside the doorway of her suite, handing her the key on the way in and telling her just to call down to the reception desk if she needed anything, he turned to leave.

She quickly placed her hand on his arm to stop him and he paused before turning back to face her.

"Killian, I want to thank you. For everything," she smiled, holding his eye contact unwaveringly, "you didn't have to drive all the way down to London the way you did, but I appreciate that you went out of your way to help me. And…I also appreciate you treating me like an actual person. That means a lot to me."

She surprised both of them then by reaching up and gently kissing his cheek. She saw his eyes darken instantly as she invaded his personal space and stepped back, her heart stuttering. It had been a long time since her body reacted so keenly to someone and it startled her a little.

He stared at her for a moment before seemingly snapping out of his thoughts and smiling as he made for the door again, this time without her stopping him. He could feel every nerve ending in his body buzzing with the electricity of her touch and he needed to retreat to gather his thoughts.

It had been four years, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to be suddenly feeling such a rush of adrenaline from simply being close to someone. The smell of her shampoo – or maybe it was her perfume – was intoxicating and he'd fought the urge to inhale her scent as she'd leaned in to kiss his cheek. That instinctive pull he'd felt toward her from the moment they'd met just a few hours previous was unnerving and he wasn't quite sure what to think of it.

"If you open the bar, I'll meet you for a drink in thirty. I owe you one."

He heard her call out as he started down the hallway. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her leaning against the doorframe and grinned, nodding succinctly before she disappeared inside and he was left reeling as he made his way back to the front desk.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally overdue some drama. And I need you to feel my feels.  
> Warning: if you like Neal, you probably won't like this chapter.

"Do you like your life?"

Killian asked as he sat down beside Emma in the dimly lit, stone-and-leather bar-restaurant. It was designed with the feel of a traditional British pub, but with a modern designer twist. The leather-padded bar was on one side, the restaurant area on the other, and Emma had admired the interior design work as she'd walked in. The oak laminate floor and original feature limestone walls boasting tasteful countryside art scenes worked impressively well together.

After he'd shown her to her room, she'd called Mary Margaret to let her know she was okay, though she decided to leave out the fact that the owner of the hotel she was staying at had driven across the country to pick her up and was also perhaps one of the most attractive men she'd ever laid eyes on.

Then, she took a quick shower and changed into black leggings and an oversized USC t-shirt. She was sure Killian wouldn't mind if she didn't dress up for their rendezvous in the bar. It was ten thirty and she'd been travelling for the best part of twenty-four hours, after all.

Swirling her drink – some fruity cocktail he'd put together for her with a cheeky grin and a 'trust me!' – she sighed softly and lifted her gaze to meet his. They were alone in the bar and she absently wondered if he got lonely with no one around.

"Wow, starting off with the big questions, huh?"

She smiled ruefully, pausing to take a drink in a bid to come up with an answer that wouldn't sound awfully self-pitying. To be quite honest, she hadn't asked herself if she liked her life before. As a child, the answer would have been a decidedly big 'no', but her teenage years had been so full of love and happiness. And now? Well, she really wasn't so sure.

"This lifestyle…has its perks, I guess."

She finally said, leaning her elbows on the bar and stirring her drink absently with the tiny umbrella he'd added to it. She could feel his eyes trained on her but it took her a few moments to turn and meet the intense gaze that sent shivers up her spine so easily.

"That's a safe answer, if I've ever heard one."

He replied, his voice soft, gently pushing her but not too much. He'd already gathered that she didn't open up easily, and that made him curious about the woman behind the beautiful eyes and Hollywood smile. She'd perfected the art of the fake smile, he could tell, but so had he and he could see straight through it where most would be fooled.

Emma chewed on her bottom lip as she allowed her gaze to lock on his.

"I didn't chase it. My career, I mean. My major was Criminal Justice at college, not Theater or any of the Performance Arts. I'd never done anything remotely theater-based, so this wasn't something I'd 'wanted all my life' like so many others. It just…happened. I auditioned for one college talent show, on a whim, and then everything just spun out of control from there. And I'm grateful for how lucky I am in a lot of ways, don't get me wrong, but…maybe if I had the opportunity to go back in time, my life could be different now."

He stayed quiet; baby blues filled with a silent understanding she could so easily read as the weight of her confession sat between them. It made her wonder what _he'd_ been through, because most people would assume her life was all sunshine and rainbows, but he'd seen straight through the façade she knew she wore well.

"So, if you want a real answer," she added, breaking eye contact, "I guess I don't really like my life. At least not where it was at when I left. And that probably makes me sound incredibly selfish."

He shifted his seat marginally closer to her and tentatively placed a hand over her arm, his thumb stroking comfortingly against her pulse, which quickened at his touch. She wondered if he noticed.

"It doesn't," he answered softly when she met his gaze, "I get it. When you're not prepared for something life-changing like that, it can really do a number on you."

She frowned a little, searching his eyes for that unreadable something she'd seen earlier.

"What happened to you?"

She asked simply, her voice barely above a whisper yet still sounding obscenely loud to her own ears in the empty bar. His thumb stilled over her wrist as a storm raged in his heart. He hadn't talked about Milah in years – he'd thought about her, of course, but he kept the thoughts to himself – and the stirring of old memories made him swallow hard.

"I…lost someone. My fiancée. She died."

His voice was strained as the words finally fell from his lips. Emma squeezed his hand that rested on her arm then, offering a soft condolence and apologizing for pushing him into opening up. He shook his head.

"No, it's okay. It was a long time ago. I just haven't talked about her for a while. She was…she was an amazing woman. We went to university together – she was one of the few girls on my Marine Engineering course and I was crazy about her from the very first day," he smiled sadly as he remembered the first time he'd seen her across the gym at orientation, "We got together in the second semester of first year and when we graduated we moved down to the coast, bought a house together and got engaged…then she was in a fatal car accident. I…" he swallowed thickly, "I watched her slip away in the middle of a car wreck on a Tuesday night."

Emma felt her heart tug at his words and she intertwined her fingers with his, choked and sure she would never have enough words to ease the ache that he was surely feeling as he spoke of the love he'd lost so brutally.

She felt a surge of guilt for the fact that just a few minutes before she'd been woeful in telling him of her situation. They sat silently then for long moments, taking comfort from each other's simple presence. It had been a long time since either of them had opened up to anyone, and neither knew why they felt so inclined to do so with a perfect stranger.

"I know we only met today, Emma, so I'm sorry for burdening you with all of that. I don't really know why I-"

She shook her head firmly, fixing him with a stern look.

"Don't you dare apologize, okay? You have nothing to be sorry for. She was lucky, your fiancée, to have a guy like you. I know we just met, but I'm good at reading people. And you, Killian Jones, are something special."

She smiled as she saw the small smile lifting his lips, the sparkle returning to his eyes. It took her breath away again, just the way it had the first time she'd looked up into those eyes earlier that evening. Had it really only been a few hours?

She felt like she'd known this man for years, and it was such a strange, rare occurrence for her to feel that way about someone. She was usually very wary, because so many people she met had agendas and were bubbling with such false genuineness, eager to 'know' her for her status rather than to _really_ know her.

This man was so very different. She wondered if she'd warmed to him so quickly because of his initial reaction to finding out who she was, or because of this strange connection she'd felt so instantaneously with him. It was unnerving and thrilling, both at the same time.

"Oh, and I promised you a drink too, so…" she slipped down from her chair, ignoring the way she felt the loss of his touch keenly, and moved to the other side of the bar, leaning over to him with a smile, "what can I get you?"

\----------------

They stayed up talking late into the night, the topics of conversation turning much lighter and resulting in Emma doubled over laughing at his stories. They'd moved to one of the more comfortable lounge areas and Emma had kicked off her shoes, her legs curled under her and they chatted easily. They talked about their favorite sports, the times they'd gotten so drunk they'd had to be carried home by friends, and their childhood memories.

Granted, Emma had glossed over the more traumatic details of her childhood in favor of the funny stories from Christmases in a group home and the time she'd covered Mary Margaret's bedroom doorway in plastic wrap and then screamed her name loudly from the end of the hallway so that she came running out in a panic.

They'd talked about disastrous dating experiences (she'd chosen to _not_ talk about Neal, because that was one person she really didn't want to think about for just one night) and protective older siblings, tragic fashion choices in their early teen years and awkward sexual encounters. They opened up to each other in ways that surprised them both. Neither had ever felt so totally at ease as they did with each other.

When Killian noticed the time on the big Grandfather clock that happened to be a focal feature in the lounge they'd relocated to, he gave a start.

"Well, Ms. Swan, it's gone 3am," he saw her eyes widen as she followed his gaze to the clock, "I'm assuming after a long-haul flight that it's more jetlag that's keeping you awake as opposed to my endlessly entertaining stories."

She laughed and shook her head.

"Oh, I think it might be both. Probably seventy-thirty in jetlag's favor though."

She sighed playfully and smirked as he threw her a dramatically wounded expression, his hand pressed to his chest. She uncurled her legs and pushed herself to standing. Killian followed suit, leading the way back out toward the front of the hotel and turning to face her when they reached the lobby.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Emma. I haven't laughed like that in…well, years."

He smiled warmly at her, and she could see that it reached his eyes. She returned it in kind and took a step closer to him; her heart stuttering slightly as he took a step closer at the exact same time and they ended up much closer than either had planned.

They both laughed somewhat awkwardly before Killian put a little more space back between them and reached for her hand. She felt the blush rise on her cheeks as he brought it up to his lips and brushed his lips over her knuckles, holding her eye contact as he did so.

Her stomach flipped and she smiled shyly, her inner voice chastising her for the teenage girl reaction her body seemed to keep having every time he touched her in any way. She'd kissed his cheek earlier, so why was this innocent action from him starting a fire in her belly?

"I…had a great night too. And thank you for everything again. I'll see you at breakfast?"

He nodded and she smiled again, backing up with a duck of her head when he let go of her hand.

"Goodnight, Emma."

He said, the softness in his voice doing crazy things to her already quickened pulse. As she turned to walk down the hallway to her room, she stopped and looked back at him.

"I'm glad I met you, Killian. Goodnight."

With that, she made her way to her room and closed the door behind her, leaning against it with a dreamy smile on her face. She hadn't felt so light or carefree in a long time, and she really wished she could hold onto that feeling. She knew she'd have to face the real world eventually, but she was grateful he'd taken her mind of it all so easily, even just for one night.

Slipping her shirt over her head and shimmying off her leggings, she hurriedly changed into her pyjama shorts and tank top, intent on getting to sleep as quickly as possible, sure that she'd finally get a restful sleep for the first time in a while.

She promptly drifted off into an easy sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. So, when her phone vibrating loudly on the bedside table startled her out of a deep sleep a little while later, she snatched it up, instinctively pressing the button to answer the call without checking the caller ID first.

"Hello?"

She answered, sleep still fogging her mind.

"Emma? Where the fuck are you? I've been trying to call all day."

Neal's angry voice chased away the sleep haze immediately and she sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. She had the urge to just hang up and turn her phone off, but she knew she had to talk to him sooner or later, otherwise he'd hunt down Mary Margaret and she couldn't expect her sister to take the brunt of his frustration. This was her mess, not Mary Margaret's.

"I'm…I…we're over. This…thing, whatever it was between us, it wasn't a relationship. So I'm done. With you."

She said breathlessly, her hands shaking. She hadn't sat down and thought about what she'd say to him, so her words were uncoordinated. She'd been so busy trying to avoid thinking of him and the fallout that would come from their break-up that she had no idea what to say to him now.

There was no reply on the other end of the line for painfully long seconds before his scornful laugh broke the silence. She gave a start, surprised by his response. She half expected excuses for his lack of involvement in their 'relationship', or whining, or perhaps overly dramatic pleading with her to 'see sense' and go home to 'talk about it'. She hadn't expected him to laugh.

"Emma, you're not leaving me," he sighed, as though he was talking to a child, "I'm your fucking manager, not just some guy from the band you can simply replace. I _made_ you. Don't you remember how pathetically wide-eyed and clingy you were three years ago? Without me, this town would have eaten you alive. So stop being such a fucking princess and get back home."

Emma was breathing hard and trembling harder. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks and she fought to hold onto her composure. She would _not_ let him hear her cry. He'd never spoken to her that way before, and if she hadn't been on the opposite side of the world, it would have scared her. Maybe even enough to go home.

"I'm not coming home. Didn't you hear what I said? We're _over_. I don't care that you're my manager; I don't care if you ruin my career. I want to be happy, and I never will be with you."

He scoffed and she could practically feel him rolling his eyes. Her tears turned angry then, and she was struggling to remember what she'd ever seen in him.

"Oh, you're _unhappy_? Really? You're a goddamn adult, Emma. Deal with it. If you're not home by-"

"I'm not coming home. Goodbye, Neal."

She quickly hung up and wiped her tears away. If he wanted her to act like an adult, then she'd use some grown-up tactics, and he wasn't going to like it. She knew one sure-fire way to keep him busy for a few days, which would give her time to clear her head and come up with a plan. Still shaking with shock and anger, she typed a text to Mary Margaret.

_I need you to leak mine and Neal's breakup to the media asap._  
 _No details, just be that good old 'reliable source'._  
 _Will explain tomorrow x_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one got angst-fluffy because my muse was inspired after reading poetry!  
> These things happen and I do not control my muse, my muse controls me.  
> PS: Reviews are my drugs. Please be my dealers!

Killian had watched Emma retreat to her room before setting up the few tables in the restaurant required for breakfast and finally making it back to his own room to catch a few hours sleep before the sun came up. He knew he was probably going to be walking round like a zombie for most of the next day, but it was a price he was more than willing to pay for the perfect evening he'd spent with Emma.

When he finally collapsed into bed, he still had a smile on his face. He couldn't explain it, and he wasn't sure he'd even want to, but she was intoxicating. The walls he'd built around his heart four years before were beginning to waver; he could practically feel the foundations crumbling. Just being near her made him feel like maybe, just maybe, his heart might be starting to beat again.

It was a sensation he'd long since lost hope of ever feeling again, but there was something about Emma Swan, a broken soul hidden behind beautiful eyes and a smile that made his heart flutter, that made him want to believe in new beginnings.

He'd been a patchwork of darkness in the night sky that was missing its stars, and suddenly this woman, this supernova starlet, crashed into his orbit and scattered stardust everywhere, momentarily blinding him in a light that had long since been snuffed out in his world.

As he closed his eyes, for the very first time he saw a face that wasn't Milah's. And even though a momentary panic set in with that fact, the peace that followed was overwhelming. He saw Emma's golden curls, a set of twinkling green eyes filled with laughter.

He saw that smile of hers that lit up the entire room – and his entire world – when she laughed, with the adorable scrunch of her nose that accompanied it, and the fine laughter lines around her eyes. The melody of her laugh resounded in his mind and he was sure that no song ever composed could sound so good to his ears.

He realized, with only the smallest taste of bittersweet on his tongue, that Emma had walked into his life the exact same month of the year that Milah had. September.

So maybe Septembers could be a good thing again now, like they once had been.

He was alone in his room, yet he felt so infinitely close to her. This Swan girl would ruin him, he was sure, in every beautiful way possible. He'd known her for less than twenty-four hours, but he was already falling hard.

\------------

Emma didn't sleep at all, no matter how much she tried. Neal's voice, his scathing words and vicious tone, kept playing on loop until she gave up and threw the covers off of her, stalking over to the balcony doors that opened out onto a small private deck overlooking the courtyard.

The sun had risen a little while earlier, but everything was so perfectly still that she could easily imagine someone had pressed pause on the world. And how she so wished they could.

She shivered as she stepped outside, the cool morning air chilling her to the bone with a pleasant numbing effect. She had a feeling that it was more to do with the lack of sleep and how emotionally drained she felt, rather than the fresh breeze ghosting over her skin.

She sat down wearily at the small glass table and stared vacantly out across the courtyard, simply allowing her mind to drift and focus on nothing in particular. She just wanted Neal out of her head, and knew that as soon as he was, the heaviness in her heart would lift.

The night before, sitting and talking all night with Killian, Emma had felt happier than she had in a long time. It wasn't anything she could put her finger on, but being with him felt so effortless. He made her laugh, and seemed to sense that her emotional baggage was possibly as heavy as his own. And that hadn't seemed to faze him in the slightest.

Not only that, but he treated her like an actual person, rather than some kind of living doll. She was inexplicably drawn to him, and she knew it was more than his dashing good looks that had her heart stuttering every time their eyes met. The flurry of butterflies taking flight in her stomach when they touched, no matter how innocent the intention, made shivers run the length of her body.

She'd been looking forward to seeing him at breakfast, but that was before Neal's phone-call. Now, all she wanted was to stay locked in her room, more afraid than ever that word of her location would get back to him. She knew her secret was safe with Mary Margaret and David, but she couldn't very well hide out in the English countryside forever.

Especially considering the fact that she knew her tattered personal life would be all over the front pages of every magazine in LA (and probably a lot of the British ones too) by mid-afternoon English time. Tears of frustration slid down her cheeks. She was angry that Neal could upset her so much even when she'd put over five thousand miles between them.

She wasn't sure how long she ended up sitting out on the deck, but after a while she heard a muffled knocking and realized it was coming from her door. As she hurried inside, she cast a quick glance at the digital clock on her bedside table. 9:30am. She'd been outside longer than she thought, but the chill on her skin had become somewhat comforting.

Pulling open the door, she wasn't all that surprised to see Killian smiling back at her. She hoped her eyes weren't too red, but perhaps she could simply blame it on allergies if he noticed.

"Morning, love. I figured after our late night, you'd maybe appreciate breakfast in your room?"

His smile was so warm that she could already feel the painful knot in her stomach loosening its grip and the icy chill on her bare skin thawing out. She forced a smile – something she was very good at after years of practice – and stepped back to allow him entry with the tray he was carrying.

"That's so nice of you, thank you. I'm pretty beat this morning."

She said, managing to keep her voice light as she followed him out to the deck where he set the tray down. He'd brought her a little bit of everything, and added a lilac flower in a milk cup as a sweet afterthought.

He turned to face her and his piercing gaze settled on her for a long moment. She shifted and chewed on her bottom lip, knowing he was reading her like an open book.

"Are you okay, Emma?" he asked quietly, "I mean, just tell me to bugger off if I'm overstepping but-"

"You're not. I'm…I'm not okay," she cut him off, surprising them both, "I got a call last night when I came to bed…from my boyfriend, who's also my manager…"

She took a deep breath, wondering how on earth she could explain to him what he was surely going to see all over magazines if he so much as stepped into a convenience store. She didn't want him to learn her secrets like that.

She caught the way his shoulders dropped ever so slightly at the mention of a boyfriend and he broke eye contact briefly. He seemed to quickly compose himself and school his face into a careful mask of detachment and mild concern.

"Is everything alright?"

He asked casually, but she could hear the slight strain in his voice. She knew she should have mentioned Neal and her complicated situation to him the night before, but she'd so desperately wanted to distance herself from the mess she'd left behind in LA, just for one night.

"It will be, I hope. I broke up with him. But he's not really taking it very well and I'm…well, I'm kinda worried about what he's gonna do. Only my sister and brother-in-law know where I am, but he has a lot of connections and I know I can't run forever."

She dropped wearily onto one of the chairs on the deck, running a hand through her tangled curls. She was dragging Killian into her mess, but she knew she had no other option. She didn't want him finding it all out from some ill-informed media story that filled in the blanks with whatever salacious rumors they could summon up.

She didn't want to analyze the fact that what he thought mattered to her, or why that was. She'd become very good at detaching herself from caring about people's opinions of her over the years, because everyone had one and you could never please them all, so she wasn't entirely sure why this almost-stranger's opinion mattered to much.

Killian leaned against the doorframe, his eyes never leaving her and his concern palpable. His heart had clenched painfully when she mentioned a boyfriend, and he was mentally kicking himself. Of _course_ she had a boyfriend. She lived in Los Angeles, where being less than beautiful was the worst sin imaginable, and he was sure she'd probably had 'perfect' men lining up around the block for the chance to take her to dinner. He couldn't even imagine _bad_ looking men existing in LA. Then again, she didn't seem the type to base a relationship solely off of looks.

But as she'd continued, the envy he'd felt toward the nameless man who had been lucky enough to call Emma his own disappeared when she quickly told him she'd ended it. The unwarranted relief that washed over him became laced with concern with her words and he felt the instinctive need to keep her safe.

"He wouldn't hurt you though, would he?" the worry lines on his face deepened further when she wavered, unsure, "You can stay here for as long as you need to, Emma. I'll do my very best to protect you in whatever way I can. It's unlikely that the media will find you here, but you tell me what I can do to help, and I'll do it."

Emma gave him a small smile of thanks, not knowing how to put into words how grateful she was to him for everything he'd _already_ done. Simply making her laugh was something to thank him for, but here he was, willing to turn his life upside down for her at a moment's notice.

It surprised her too that she felt safer just knowing he was near. She had no idea how exactly he could protect her if things got messy, but there was no doubt in her mind that he would.

"I honestly don't know what he's capable of. The way he spoke to me last night…I've never heard him that angry before. He doesn't deal well with not being in control, especially when it comes to me, and I've just sat back and taken that bullshit for two years because I thought he loved me, and because I didn't know how I'd survive in LA without him," she let out a shaky sigh, "but this is my fault, for leaving the goddamn country on a whim instead of cooling down and talking it out like an adult."

She felt the familiar heaviness settling on her heart again. She'd been free of it for one evening, and she knew she was a fool to have ever hoped it could last. She stared down at her feet, wondering how the hell she could even begin to unravel the tangled mess she'd created the night she bought a plane ticket and disappeared to the opposite side of the world.

Killian stepped forward, lifting her chin with his fingers so that her eyes met his reluctantly, his thumb lightly touching the dimple in her chin. The way he looked at her, as though she made the stars shine and the birds sing, had her breath hitching in her throat and she wished she could find a way to tell him that she really didn't deserve a guy like him to be looking at her like that.

" _None_ of this is your fault, love. If he didn't tell you every single day that he loved you, then he didn't deserve you. Not for a minute. If he didn't spend hours memorizing you with his fingertips, or making sure he'd kissed every inch of you, or marvelling at the fact that he was being allowed to touch heaven every time he held your hand, then you deserved better. A woman like you, Emma, should be treasured and told everyday that your eyes are the most beautiful shade of green, and that your laugh is better than the best song I've ever heard, and your smile…well, your smile looks really great on you and it's something I'd make you wear everyday if you were mine."

Emma could barely breathe, his words hanging as heavy as a confession between them. Her heart was pounding, deafening to her own ears, and her eyes were wide, locked onto his lips as he spoke and lingering there long after he'd fallen silent. The moment stretched out between them like an eternity frozen in a single breath.

She knew she was staring at him but she was paralyzed by the weight of the words ringing in her ears, her lips parted in shock and raw emotion coursing its way through every nerve in her body. She couldn't drag her gaze away from his, until he suddenly stepped back, his delicate touch against the dimple on her chin suddenly gone.

Something inside Killian had broken when she'd blamed herself for the emotional abuse that had apparently become the foundation of her relationship with her manager-boyfriend. He was clearly in a position of power and had systematically made her believe that she couldn't make it without him. Perhaps he'd even threatened her with how difficult he could make things if he really did have as many connections as she'd mentioned earlier. But just the fact that this 'man' had broken her down enough for her to even consider blaming herself for her broken heart and tattered relationship had words pouring from his mouth before he'd really thought them through.

As silence had wrapped itself around them, shock paralyzing them both, his blood ran cold. Why had he told her all those things? He'd practically told her he was in love with her, and they'd barely known each other a day. He hadn't even had time to process the idea that he might actually be falling for her, _slowly and then all at once_ , before he'd told her everything.

He'd given her every poetic notion that had crossed his mind the night before as he lay in bed, his head full of the nuances of her accent, and the way she'd snorted in such an endearingly unladylike manner when he'd made her laugh so hard she had tears in her eyes, and the way she occasionally touched the ring on a chain round her neck.

He hadn't even realized his feelings for her already ran so deep until the words had tumbled from his lips.

He felt his face crumble as he stepped back, devastated that he may have blown it just as his heart was learning how to beat again thanks to her…and just as she was beginning to lean into his touch.

He wanted to find her gaze again, to make sure it was simply shock and not horror or fear that he saw in her eyes, and to give her a chance to respond, but he was turning and making for the door before he fucked things up any further.

She didn't follow him.

When she finally remembered how to breathe again, the air rushed into her lungs with a gasp but he was long gone. Processing what he'd said had her mind in overdrive, but her gaze was still fixed to where she'd watched him walk out.

And just like that, a complicated situation had spun so far out of control that it left her breathless. And wasn't that just so typical.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Major UST ahead. Prepare your ovaries!

Emma spent the majority of the day in her room, trying to summon up the courage to go looking for Killian and figuring out exactly what she would say when she did.

She was somewhat accustomed to strangers professing their love for her – usually they were screaming and/or crying at the same time – but there was one major difference: she had never felt an instant, electrifying connection with any of the fans she'd met in the street, or after her shows.

And despite the hundreds of thousands of fan mail letters her agency received for her each week – a fair amount of which she tried to read, even just so she felt like she was fully appreciating the diehard dedication of her fanbase – never had someone's words been wrapped up so beautifully or eloquently and given to her with such honest conviction.

And never had her heart stilled in her chest the way it did every time he touched her. From the moment they'd met, something had happened, and she was a little relieved that she wasn't the only one feeling the exhilarating rush that came with such an inexplicable connection.

By late afternoon, after busying herself with TV, washing her hair and unpacking a few of her clothes, Emma knew she needed to talk to him. She needed to clear the air, to assure him he hadn't scared her off, and to let him know that he wasn't the only one who felt something between them.

But she also needed him to realize that the timing couldn't possibly have been worse. Not only was she in the middle of a very turbulent break-up but also the world's media would be more than ready to pounce on anyone she was seen with publically, in any capacity.

She _really_ didn't want to throw him to the wolves like that because she remembered all too well how terrifying daunting she had found it when she'd first found herself in the spotlight. The fervor with which they'd pursued her and Neal when they'd first been seen out together without the façade of business to hide behind had been verging on assault. And even before they were even together, there was plenty of speculation.

There was no such thing as a platonic friend when you lived in the spotlight. If you were straight and you happened to be seen with a friend of the opposite sex, people would talk. If you were gay and dared to step out in public with a friend of the same sex, the same rumors would circulate. She'd found it terribly difficult to adjust to that reality, but she eventually had to simply accept it and not pay too much attention to gossip.

Wandering slowly down to the lobby, she caught sight of Killian slumped behind the desk, his bright eyes dancing across the screen of the computer, oblivious to the world around him.

She approached cautiously, her heart fluttering with nerves, and she felt like a teenager again. As she neared the desk, he lifted his eyes from the screen and those too-blue eyes of his stole her breath, everything she'd been preparing to say flying out of her mind. She also couldn't help but think that no amount of words could do justice in describing the color of those eyes.

She noticed how his instinctive smile had faltered and his shoulders tensed as he saw her, but she tried not to let that hurt too much. It was her own fault for hiding in her room all day and unintentionally making him sweat.

"Killian…" she started, her voice way breathier than she'd anticipated and she saw his eyes darken slightly, "we need to talk."

He grimaced then, a tight smile on his lips.

"I've found that when someone says that, I'm rarely in for a pleasant conversation."

She smiled weakly, her gaze pleading. She didn't want him to distance himself the way he was so obviously doing. Not that she could blame him. She waited silently and after a few moments he sighed, rounding the desk and canting his head in the direction of the bar.

"I think I'm gonna need some rum first, love. Care to join?"

She nodded quickly, following him across the lobby and wishing more than anything that the stifled tension between them would dissipate. She knew he was expecting the "you're a really great guy, but I just want to be friends" talk and she knew he was probably going to be more than a little surprised.

\-------------

"Before you say anything, Emma," Killian started as he rounded the bar and busied his hands with the bottles of alcohol, "I want to apologize for cornering you the way I did. I honestly don't know where it all came from. I didn't even realize that I…felt that way. So you don't have to feel as though-"

"I like you," she cut in, and he turned to face her, eyes questioning, "I… _like_ like you. I've never felt an instant connection to anyone like I have with you, and it scares me a little. I'm also in a horrible place emotionally and I've never been good at dealing with feelings, so I didn't react to what you said in the best way. So, please don't apologize, because I'm kinda relieved that this… _thing_ between us, whatever you wanna call it, isn't just in my head."

Emma chewed on her lip as silence descended, Killian staring at her the way she'd stared at him that morning. She shifted, uncomfortable, and knotted her fingers in her lap.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and he moved closer to her despite the bar between them.

"It isn't in your head. I haven't felt this drawn to someone since…"

He fell quiet for a moment and she knew what he was about to say. She was the first person who'd made him feel anything since Milah. She was the first person who'd made him believe there might be a second chance for him and that it was alright to finally let his heart beat again.

"I had such a great time last night, Emma, and I want to really get to know you," he finally said, "I just didn't want you to feel like I was coming on too strong, because honestly, what I said surprised me just as much as it surprised you."

She nodded slowly, accepting the drink he set down in front of her and raising it to toast as he poured himself a tumbler of rum.

"To getting to know each other."

She said as she gently clinked their glasses together. He smiled as their eyes met and nodded, tossing the drink back and rounding the bar to sit next to her.

"Now, this feels a little like déjà vu."

\---------------

The following two and half weeks remained surprisingly uneventful. Emma had left her cell phone turned off to make sure Neal couldn't get in touch with her again, and bought a disposable one, which she used to call Mary Margaret every other day to assure her she was still okay.

She was, however, very careful to limit how much she mentioned Killian. There was no way she was going to submit herself to one of her sister's interrogations when she really couldn't even define what she and Killian were to each other.

Nothing had happened – nothing more than a kiss on the cheek and a couple of hugs that had lasted a little longer than was really necessary – but the sizzling chemistry between them was becoming very hard to ignore.

They'd rarely spent a day apart since meeting, and even though Emma insisted that she couldn't venture out into the town, especially not if she was accompanied by such a 'devilishly handsome gentleman', they still managed to come up with creative ways to pass the time.

They'd watched almost the entire collection of movies Killian owned, and Emma had promptly fallen asleep on his shoulder during at least a third of the movies they'd watched. They'd raided the bar and had one of the chefs put together picnics for them to take down to the lake, making the most of the unseasonably warm October weather, and had then fed half of their sandwiches to swans and ducks.

Killian had taught Emma how to play golf, and she'd (tried) to teach him how to play piano on the Baby Grand in the ballroom. He'd made excuses for his poor piano skills, telling her he could out-play her on the guitar if he knew where he'd put his and she'd simply laughed.

They'd played video games and been repeatedly beaten by faceless thirteen years olds with colorful language and poor grammar; they'd lay together on the grass under a cloudless sky, making pictures out of the stars and laughing until their sides hurt.

They'd covered every possible topic of conversation, from their favorite foods (hers were mac and cheese, tacos and sweet potatoes; his were mozzarella sticks, nachos with cheese and bacon) to their favorite _Orange Is The New Black_ character (they'd argued for a solid twenty minutes over Nicky and Alex).

Emma didn't think she'd ever find someone she was comfortable enough with to share the intimate, often painful, experiences of her childhood in the system. But with Killian, the stories had fallen from her lips easily. The pain in his eyes had told her that he knew what being abandoned felt like. And when he shared his story, she'd felt tears rolling down her cheeks. He knew her by heart, and she was becoming less terrified of that fact with every day she spent with him.

One evening, when Killian returned after being out all afternoon in town taking care of the out-of-season business his brother left him in charge of, he called Emma's room from the lobby. She'd picked up the phone with a smile, ready to playfully chastise him for not simply walking down the hallway to speak to her in person.

"Swan," he'd started the moment she picked up the phone, "would you do me the honor of dressing up in something delightful and meeting me in the lobby at 8pm?"

Confused, Emma frowned, switching the phone to her other ear and perching on the bed.

"What's going on?"

He paused and she could feel his nervous tension down the line, could almost feel it swirling down the hallway to her.

"I…erm…"

She could see the image in her head of him scratching the back of his ear, the way he did every time he was nervous, but she said nothing, waiting for him to clear his voice and continue.

"I'd like to take you on a date. Will you go on a date with me, Emma Swan?"

Emma bit her lip. On one hand, her heart was fluttering at the very idea of an _official_ date, even though they'd been practically dating since the day after they'd met. But on the other hand, labeling it made her jittery.

Not only that, but they'd discussed, at length, why it would be a bad idea for them to venture outside of the hotel grounds together. And that was the very premise of a date, wasn't it? Going out to dinner and/or a movie, then walking hand-in-hand down Main Street and ignoring the stuttering of their hearts when they both became hyperaware that the night was most probably going to end in a kiss. Or maybe more, considering the sexual tension that had been growing between them for weeks.

"Killian…"

She started, her voice faltering.

"Trust me."

He said gently, and she wasn't in the least bit surprised to realize that she _did_ trust him. Completely.

"Fine. Okay…I'll go on a date with you."

She said quietly, feeling like a fifteen year old about to go on her first date. Except, when she was fifteen she'd been suspended from school for breaking a junior's nose after he'd grabbed her ass in the school hallway…so she didn't have many dates in high school after that.

"Great! I'll, erm…see you at eight in the lobby then, Swan."

She tried to play down the sudden nervous excitement that bubbled up inside her as they hung up, and began dissecting her closet for something to wear.

\------------

Killian sat anxiously in the lobby at ten before eight, sure that if he paced his room any longer that he'd have to start replacing the hardwood floor he'd worn out. So he'd slowly made his way to the lobby, his legs bouncing with nervous energy and his eyes repeatedly darting to the hallway that led to Emma's room.

He couldn't shake the tiny niggling of doubt that she'd change her mind and simply not show up. It was all well and good hanging out all day and staying up talking late each night together when there was nothing defining it. But after almost three weeks, he wanted to remind her that his feelings for her, however surprising they were, hadn't changed. After a day together, she was in his head, and after three weeks she was quite firmly in his heart.

Hearing the turning of a lock and the quick opening and shutting of a door, Killian's heart skipped a beat and he stood up, swallowing hard as he waited for her to appear.

When she did, he was sure his heart had stopped. She smiled somewhat shyly as she approached, but he'd lost the ability to speak. She was a _goddess_. Dressed in a tight, sleeveless, mid-thigh length red dress and black heels, with her long blonde hair curled to perfection and slightly more makeup than she usually wore, Emma was leaving him speechless.

He'd previously found it so easy to see past the glamorous, idolized pin-up the magazines all depicted her as. And he'd even been able to overlook the fact that she'd appeared toward the top of numerous 'world's sexiest women' lists since she'd stumbled onto the Hollywood scene. But right now, with her standing before him in her simple yet incredibly sexy, figure-flaunting dress, he was struggling.

" _This girl could literally have any guy in the world, and she's here with me."_

He thought, scratching the back of his ear as he tried to compose himself; fighting the urge to openly stare at her legs, which looked phenomenal in the heels she wore. Clearing his throat, he finally regained the ability to speak, and he could see from her small smile that she'd noticed how affected he was at the sight of her.

"You…wow. You look…wow. I mean…you look beautiful. Incredible, even."

He grimaced, aware that he was stumbling over his words and feeling the color rising on his cheeks. She suppressed a laugh, which he appreciated, and thanked him graciously.

"You scrub up pretty well yourself, Mr. Jones."

She openly appraised him and he was acutely aware of the sudden confidence shift between them. He was wearing dark grey slacks, which he knew made his legs look pretty damn brilliant, coupled with a grey-pinstripe shirt and a dark grey waistcoat over the top. His top two buttons were left open, and he'd spent an embarrassing amount of time deciding whether to go with one or two buttons. She seemed to be appreciating his choice.

Having Emma Swan looking him up and down with a dark gaze while biting her lip had his blood rushing south, so he quickly stepped toward her and noted how her breath visibly hitched at his sudden proximity. It was comforting to see that he affected her just as much as she was affecting him.

"I can't take you out to a restaurant the way I'd like to. But, if you follow me…"

He held out his hand for her and she took it with a smile, marveling at the way her body responded so keenly to even a simply touch from him, and she couldn't help her mind from taking it further.

" _Sex with him is gonna be out of this world. It'll probably class as a spiritual experience."_

She mused, and quickly banished such thoughts from her head, knowing that she'd have to cross her legs for some desperately needed friction if she let her mind go down that path.

He led the way down the main hallway, turning toward the ballroom that wasn't used out-of-season and so remained empty save for the Baby Grand piano and chairs stacked off to the side. She wondered what on earth he could have waiting for them in an empty ballroom, but her noisy thoughts were silenced as he held the door for her and she stepped inside.

There, in the center of the room, was a small, round table covered with a simple white tablecloth, set for two people. There were candles of all shapes and sizes around the room, and the lights were turned down low. There were numerous dishes on the table, the main two covered with silver cloches, and a red carpet leading from the doorway where she stood, right up to the table.

Swallowing the lump that immediately wedged in her throat, she turned to meet Killian's gaze, tears filling her eyes. He smiled shyly at her and she was overcome with emotion.

"Killian, this is…I don't know what to say," she choked out, her fingers pressing against her lips, "I can't believe you did all this for me."

He tugged at his ear and simply smiled back, leading her over to the table and pulling out a chair for her. When she thanked him and sat down, he lifted the silver cloche in front of her, to reveal a bowl of mac and cheese.

She burst out laughing, the tears in her eyes at odds with the laughter bubbling from her lips. She watched then as he lifted the covers on the other dishes. Sweet potatoes and tacos.

"This is definitely the best date I've ever been on," she said softly as he sat down opposite her, "No one has _ever_ done anything like this for me before."

He smiled and shook his head.

"Well, that makes me sorely disappointed in my species. But I'll try to make that up to you tonight."

\----------

After dinner, which was filled with easy conversation and the almost-awkward moment when she'd accidentally brushed his leg with her bare foot, they'd ventured out into the garden with a bottle of wine and a blanket, the way they had done a handful of times in the previous two weeks.

It felt different this time though, because they could both feel the electric tension and the fire between them that had been on a slow burn right from the day they'd met. And they were on a _date_.

As they strolled outside, Killian intertwined his fingers with hers as casually as he could, ignoring the way his heart jumped when she squeezed his hand gently. Turning his head to meet her gaze, the smile on her face sent a surge of desire right through him and all he wanted to do in that moment was kiss her.

Fighting the urge to do so, as he had done numerous times in the previous weeks, he led her over to the patch of grass they usually occupied and lay the blanket down. She sat down gracefully, which he had to give her credit for considering how tight her dress was, and he quickly joined her.

He tipped his head back then, a smile on his face as he followed the invisible lines connecting the stars, and felt her shift closer, the warmth of her body now pressing ever so slightly into his side.

After taking a moment to compose himself and attempt to slow his heart before it burst right out of his chest, he turned to face Emma, who was gazing at him unwaveringly, the smile on her lips that had been there all evening.

As they moved even closer to one another, the sparks between them were almost visible and he lifted one trembling hand to gently push her hair back off her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek.

Emma's heart was beating so loudly that she was convinced he could hear it. The electricity of his touch and the way his fingers grazed her cheek so tenderly, as though he was touching the most delicate porcelain ever made, sent shivers down her spine. She'd never felt as wanted as he made her feel, and his touch was addictive. She knew then that they were probably, definitely, going to end up in the same bed that night.

"Emma…" he whispered, his tongue darting out across his lips and making her tremble with desire, "I'd like to kiss you now, if that's okay with you?"

She could feel the fire burning white hot in her belly and it was all she could do to stop herself from crashing her lips to his in a heated, desperate kiss that was long overdue. But seeing his pupils blown, blue eyes now almost black, froze her perfectly still and she swallowed hard.

"I wish you would."

She whispered, and he began to close the space between them slowly, his hand sliding into her hair. But as her eyes fluttered closed, her whole body anticipating the touch of his lips to hers, the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them caused them to jolt away from each other and turn to face whoever had interrupted their long-awaited kiss.

"Liam!"

Killian exclaimed hoarsely, and he could see the shock he felt reflected back at him in his brother's face. In the four years he'd lived at the hotel, Killian had never shown so much as a passing interest in any woman, and Liam had tried to gently encourage him to get back into the dating game. He'd firmly refused, adamant that he didn't want to ever risk having his heart ripped out again, because he wasn't sure he could survive it a second time.

And now, three weeks after Liam and his girlfriend, Jane, had set off on their annual European cruise, he'd returned to find his little brother looking very cozy in the garden with a petite blonde. It had surprised him to say the least.

But nothing could have prepared him for the further shock of having that petite blonde hurriedly jump up and offer him her hand…to find that hand belonged to a face he'd recognize anywhere after seeing her recent break-up and the big question of her location plastered over every magazine he'd seen that month.

"You're…"

"Emma Swan. Hi…I, erm, guess you're Killian's brother? Nice to meet you."

She ducked her head as he stared at her in open-mouthed shock, and she was obviously embarrassed at being caught in the position they were in, but also marginally uncomfortable with the way Liam was staring.

Killian jumped up and punched his brother in the arm then, glaring in a silent demand to stop gawping at his date. Liam immediately snapped out of his trance and shook her hand firmly; his eyes turning to find his brother's, a thousand questions communicated in silence.

She knew that look, had shared the same one with Mary Margaret many times, and she knew that would be her best opportunity to escape. Removing her hand gently from Liam's grasp, she turned to Killian and offered him a small smile, with a pointed look that said 'to be continued' and clearly told him that he owed her one hell of a kiss to make up for the interruption.

"Thank you for tonight. I guess I'll see you in the morning…" she reached up and kissed his cheek quickly, "Goodnight."

And with that, she made her way back to her room as quickly as she could. She didn't look back, knowing that Liam had probably launched into an interrogation, the way Mary Margaret would, the second she was out of earshot.

Once back in her room, Emma closed the door and leaned against it, a long sigh passing her lips and a mixture of disappointment and frustration coursing through her. Pushing off of the door, she made her way toward her bed, tossing her shoes onto one of the chairs and shimmying out of her dress.

As she crawled into bed, she absently wondered if it would be considered inappropriate of her to drag him into her room before breakfast and kiss him senseless. She was wound up tight, the unfulfilled desire rippling through her and making her groan with frustration. She'd never been so equally turned on and annoyed in all her life.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying this fic as much as I'm enjoying writing it!  
> This chapter is maybe a little more angsty, but next chapter will kick off with some good ole' comedy.  
> And also, please don't hate Liam _too_ much. He's just being an overprotective big brother ;)

"Liam, what the fuck?"

The moment Emma disappeared inside, Killian punched his brother in the arm for a second time. His heart was still racing from the dizzying proximity of Emma seconds before his brother ruined the moment they'd been building up to for almost three weeks. The crippling disappointment that had rushed through him when the moment was broken had quickly turned into anger toward his brother.

"Sorry! I didn't exactly expect you to be harboring a celebrity fugitive when I got back. And I _certainly_ never thought for a second that you'd be in the middle of a make-out session with anyone, let alone... _her_. Jesus Christ, Killian, what are you thinking?"

Liam sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his head full of questions. Admittedly, he was protective of his little brother, and he was slightly affronted by the fact that Killian had completely failed to mention the fact that a famous popstar was staying at _his_ hotel while he was away, never mind that he'd apparently become _involved_ with said popstar too.

Killian rolled his eyes, turning away from Liam to pick up the blanket and unopened bottle of wine from the lawn, intent on storming off to his room to cool off.

"But maybe it's a good thing I interrupted you when I did," Liam said pointedly, and Killian spun around to face him in disbelief, "Have you even thought this through? You're asking for your heart to be broken, Killy. She's all over every magazine in the country right now, and how long do you think it'll be before she has no choice but to go home?"

Killian clenched his jaw, unwilling to admit that the thought had crossed his mind quite a few times over the weeks. He didn't want her to leave, but at some point she'd have to. Her home was in Los Angeles, not some hotel in the middle of England. She had a family, a career, out there. But they hadn't spoken about it, choosing instead to consciously avoid the subject.

"After four years," Liam continued, "you've chosen a girl who is almost definitely gonna break your heart. She's hot as hell, I'll give you that, but why on earth are you willingly being her rebound guy?"

"You don't even know her. And I am _not_ her rebound guy-"

" _You_ don't know her either, Killian! Not really. You've known her for, what, a couple weeks? And has she, or has she not, just come out of a relationship?"

Killian's eyes were blazing and he hated the fact that he couldn't really argue with Liam's point of view. From the outside, without feeling the undeniable connection he and Emma had shared since the day they'd met, he knew it could be easy to see their affair as nothing but a disaster waiting to happen.

But he wasn't about to give up on the first woman who'd made his heart beat again in four years. He wasn't about to give up on them before they'd even _tried_. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, but he wasn't about to give up on her.

"You know nothing about what's going on with her. Or us. You've been encouraging me to start dating again for the last two years! And now, the second I find someone who makes me feel alive again you're trying to convince me it's a bad idea! I can't win, Liam!"

Liam took a deep breath and shook his head.

"I can see exactly how this is gonna end though. I'm looking out for you. I know you're blinded by the fact that this insanely beautiful, famous chick wants you, but look at the big picture. What happens when someone finds out where she is? What happens when some sneaky journalist snaps a picture of you two together and the media goes into a frenzy?"

Killian's lips pressed together in a thin line, deep frown lines set into his forehead as he glared back at his brother. When he didn't respond, Liam continued.

"I'll tell you what'll happen: they'll dig up anything they can find on you and they'll run with it. Everything you've spent four years getting over will be splashed all over the covers of magazines and you'll be forced to relive losing Milah all over again. Don't do that to yourself, Killian. It's not worth it just for a couple of weeks as Emma Swan's boy toy. This can only end badly, and it won't be _her_ that'll be left with a broken heart."

Killian's grip on the neck of the wine bottle tightened and he could feel every muscle in his body tensing up as he stepped closer, eyes blazing.

"Back off, Liam. I know this is your misguided way of trying to protect me, but back off. This isn't just some stupid crush and it has nothing to do with who she is. You know me well enough to know I don't care about any of that. When we met, I didn't even know who she was but I finally felt my heart suddenly start beating again, somehow. I'm aware of how cliché that sounds, but it's true," Killian dropped his gaze then, his heart stuttering, "I'm in love with her…completely and madly in love with her. I honestly don't care about your opinion of her, because I _know_ this means as much to Emma as it means to me."

With that, and before Liam could respond, Killian brushed past his brother and made for his room. He toyed with the idea of detouring to Emma's room, but their moment had well and truly gone. He needed to cool off in the quiet of his room and try not to reflect too much on his brother's long list of objections.

\------------------

"Good morning…"

Emma had been silently praying to see Killian at the front desk as she made her way to breakfast the next morning. Her heart sank when she saw Liam sat there, checking through the emails that had amassed in his inbox during his vacation.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and she was immediately struck by just how alike the brothers were. Except this one didn't look at her as though she was the first ray of sunlight he'd seen after being in the dark for four years. This one looked at her as though she was threatening to rip a puppy's heart out right in front of him, with said puppy being Killian.

She understood why he was wary of her, but it frustrated her that he'd clearly taken whatever the media was saying at face value. Surely he had to realize there was more to her story than what the tabloids printed?

"Morning. Killian's gone out. Anything I can help you with?"

He was being professional, but Emma could easily read between the lines and she sighed.

"I can tell you don't approve of my relationship with your brother. And I get it. But regardless of what you think, I don't intend to hurt him."

The cool mask of insouciance Liam wore gave away nothing, but he had the same traitorously expressive eyes as his brother so she could quite clearly see the raging storm he was hiding.

"You may not intend to hurt him, but you will," his voice was calm but his words were loaded, "and you've known each other for all of three weeks. It's hardly a _relationship_ , Ms. Swan."

She maintained her composure but she was sure he'd caught the flash of annoyance in her eyes.

"I don't expect you to understand, and I doubt anything I say will change your mind about me, but Killian is a big boy so let him make his own decisions. And I promise you, I will not break his heart."

Emma turned then and made her way to breakfast, leaving Liam brooding over her words. As much as she wished she'd had the chance to see Killian before he'd left, she was glad to have had the opportunity to speak to Liam alone. She knew Mary Margaret would have had the exact same reaction to Killian, and she couldn't blame Liam for being protective of his brother. Especially considering how much Killian had been through.

\---------------

After breakfast, Emma returned to her room. She didn't know when Killian would be back from wherever it was he'd gone, and she didn't plan on seeking out Liam again to ask. So, instead she flicked through the TV channels and wasted time on her laptop until she knew it would be a civil hour to call Mary Margaret.

She'd made the mistake once of forgetting about timezones and called in the middle of the night west coast time. Of course, Mary Margaret had panicked when she'd heard her voice, assuming something must be wrong if she was calling at 3:30am. Needless to say, she was _not_ best impressed when Emma admitted she'd simply forgotten about the time difference.

A few hours later, when Emma was sure her sister would be awake, she fumbled for her phone and switched it on. The only two numbers she had stored in the burner phone were Mary Margaret's and Killian's. She'd never needed Killian's yet, considering they'd spent every day practically glued to one another.

When the phone finally loaded up, her text message alert popped up. She had two messages. Opening up the most recent one, she smiled. It was from Killian.

_Em,_  
 _I've had to go into London for some boring business thing. I'll be back mid afternoon and maybe we can pick up from where we left off last night?_  
 _K._

After she read the message, she glanced over at the clock, impatient for him to return. She'd dreamed about kissing him when she'd finally fallen asleep the night before, and she was pretty sure the reality was going to far surpass her imagination.

Sending a quick reply telling him that she was very much looking forward to kissing him senseless, and to hurry back, she clicked back to her messages to see whom the second text was from.

And suddenly, it felt like all the air had been stolen from her lungs. An unknown number had messaged her, and panic immediately set in. Mary Margaret would _definitely_ not have given Neal her burner number. But he was resourceful and the fear of seeing an unknown number on the screen was at the back of her mind every time she switched on the phone.

With shaking hands, she opened the message, and she honestly didn't know what to think.

_Hi Emma._  
 _Just want to know where you are and that you're okay. I've been worried._  
 _Graham._

She hadn't spoken to Graham since the day before she'd left LA. And even though they were friends, and spent a lot of time together seeing as he was her lead guitarist, she had to admit she hadn't really thought about how her disappearance would affect him.

She knew Graham had feelings for her. Ruby had been the first to point that out years earlier, and then later Neal had made it quite clear he didn't trust Graham around her. She'd brushed off Neal's concerns, telling him he was imagining things. But secretly, she'd started to notice the way Graham's gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary, or the way he'd smile nervously if their fingers brushed when he handed her the coffee he brought to the studio for them every morning.

She'd chosen to overlook those things though, because at that time she'd only had eyes for Neal. And now, years later, she'd fallen for someone else while Graham was back home worrying about her wellbeing. Her feelings for Graham were, and always would be, completely platonic, but she felt a stab of guilt as she re-read the text, so she hit reply.

_Graham,_   
_I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was leaving. It wasn't exactly a planned trip. I'm guessing by now you've heard that Neal and I are over – I've avoided looking at what the magazines are saying but I'm sure there are plenty of rumors circulating, as always. I'm okay though, you don't need to worry about me; I'm being looked after. I don't know when I'll be back, but I promise you I'm fine._   
_Emma._

She was careful to leave out any reference to where exactly she was. There was no use putting Graham in the firing line if Neal found out she'd been in contact with him. She was hoping by now that things would have cooled down and Neal would have realized there was no way to change her mind. Especially not with the tactics he'd attempted to use.

The moment she'd pressed send, Emma's heart sank. What if it wasn't really Graham who had sent her that message? Only Mary Margaret had her number now, and she wasn't sure if Graham had ever even met her sister.

Neal could probably have figured out that she'd reply if she believed she was speaking to Graham rather than him, and he was cunning enough to use underhand methods like that if he thought she'd take the bait. Her hands were shaking as she hit speed dial to call her sister, hoping Mary Margaret would talk her out of the panicked state she was getting herself into.

No answer.

But as she listened to the dial tone, a firm knock on her door startled her and she almost dropped the phone. She'd worked herself up into such a state of panic by this point that she simply stared at the closed door with wide eyes, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs while the phone still rang out in her hand.

A few endless seconds later she came to her senses and ended the call, striding toward the door and feeling a potent surge of relief when she peered through the peephole and saw Killian's face.

Throwing open the door, Emma was still trembling and Killian's warm smile immediately disappeared when he saw the clear distress on her face. He stepped into the room and pulled her to him without a second thought, running his fingers gently through her hair as she pressed her face into his shoulder, his other hand rubbing soothing circles against her back as he nudged the door closed behind him.

She felt her uncontrollable panic slowly dissipate in his tight embrace and she silently marvelled at the way he'd instantly been able to tell that something was wrong and had instinctively known how to comfort her without even the slightest hint as to the cause of her distress.

"Whatever it is, you don't have to worry about it now, love. You're safe here, I promise."

He murmured gently as he pressed a kiss into her hair. She melted into his arms, truly believing his words while she remained in his safe embrace. After a few long moments, she pulled back to look up at him and took a shaky breath.

"I think Neal may have gotten hold of my burner cell number. I don't know how, but I just have a feeling that it's him."

Killian looked confused and she wasn't even sure if she was making sense. She was well aware that she sounded paranoid, but really, she had every excuse to be. Neal didn't have the best reputation for handling humiliation well, and she assumed that whatever the media was saying wasn't painting him in the best light. He had a fiery temper, and the fact that he'd beat up numerous paparazzi over the years for various reasons meant that they weren't his biggest fans.

"Has he threatened you?" Killian's voice was laced with concern, "Because I swear to God, Emma, if he _has_ tracked you down, I'll beat the living shit out of him if he even dares to look at you wrong. I don't generally resort to violence, but anyone who puts fear into your eyes the way he does deserves everything he gets."

Emma's heart echoed with his words. This man, so very different from the man she was running from, would do anything to keep her safe and protect her heart and her happiness.

"He hasn't threatened me. I don't even know whether it's him…I'm probably just being paranoid," at his confused expression, she explained, "I had a message from my guitarist. He's a friend, but I don't really know how he'd have gotten the number. Only my sister has it and as far as I'm aware, they've never even met. His message was just a simple 'let me know where you are and that you're okay', which could genuinely have been from him…but as soon as I replied I just got this sinking feeling that it was Neal playing me. He knows I wouldn't reply to him…but I would reply if I thought I was speaking to Graham."

Killian seemed to be turning her words over in his head and remained quiet for a few moments. She swore she could almost _see_ the gears in his head rotating.

"You didn't mention where you are though, did you?"

She shook her head firmly. She was still berating herself for replying at all before she'd spoken to Mary Margaret and found out whether Graham did, in fact, have her burner number somehow.

"Well," Killian continued, "if Neal does have this number, I'm not convinced he'd be able to find you with just a cell phone number to go on."

"It's a British number, though," she sighed, "He'd figure that one out pretty quickly."

Killian smiled and reached forward, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear and letting his fingers linger against her cheek.

"Emma, England might not be anywhere near as huge as America, but I assure you, even if he does figure out you're in this country, he'll have one hell of a job tracking you down up here. We're in the middle of the countryside – good luck to him navigating the roads around here without local knowledge. You're _safe_ , I promise. And I'm here to protect you anyway."

He smiled again and she felt the weight beginning to lift off of her shoulders. He was right, of course. Even if Neal did figure out she was in England, he'd had a difficult enough time navigating around London the last time they'd travelled together, let alone taking on the winding country roads. Her hands had stopped trembling by now and she was a little in awe of how easily he could talk her down. Usually it was only Mary Margaret who had the ability to be her voice of reason when she was whipped up into a panicked state, but Killian had proven himself more than capable of soothing her with his words and gentle touches.

"But I have an idea," he suddenly said, and she saw the gears turning again, "How about we move you rooms so that you're right next door to me? That way, if he does get in touch with you or you're freaking out about anything, I'm right beside you if you need me."

Emma looked up at him, a small smile tugging at her lips as she reached out and slowly traced the high v-neck of his t-shirt with her fingers, watching the way his eyes darkened when she gently grazed his collarbone with her nails.

"Is this your way of getting me closer to your bed, Mr. Jones?"

She teased in a low tone, eyes sparkling with amusement as the last coil of tension eased out of her shoulders. She could quite clearly see how affected he was by her words and he swallowed hard.

"Well, I didn't have an ulterior motive until right now."

He replied, barely above a whisper, his voice much lower now and thick with the sudden desire she'd stoked so easily. She laughed softly and stepped back, noting the flash of disappointment in his eyes as she broke contact. If she kissed him now, in the middle of her bedroom with her bed just meters away, she knew for sure that they wouldn't leave the room for the rest of the night.

"I'll pack all of my things now then, shall I?"

She moved toward the closet and began folding the few clothes she'd hung up over her arm and placing them neatly on the bed. He muttered an affirmation and helped her move everything to her case. It was a relatively quick process, because most of her things she'd left folded in her suitcase anyway, so it wasn't long before Killian disappeared to swap the room keys in the lobby and returned with a smile and a cant of his head down the hallway. He bowed grandly and she rolled her eyes despite the grin she wore.

"Your new room awaits, my princess."

\---------------

"It's not in the basement, it just goes down into the natural slope of the hill that the hotel is built on," he explained, "You get to my room from the outside. It's kinda like a Granny flat attached to the hotel as an afterthought, but your room shares a deck and a private courtyard with my room. Maybe we could…have dinner on the deck tonight? Sort of like a do-over for last night. Liam and Jane are visiting friends in the next town too, so we'll have no interruptions this time. Whaddaya think?"

He said nonchalantly as they headed down a hallway and he stopped at the top of the steps leading down to her room. She smiled and nodded, feeling a flush of warmth surge through her when his face lit up.

She watched then as he stepped backward, fumbling in his pocket for the room key, and suddenly he lost his footing. Before Emma could even shout his name, Killian was thundering, head first and with a curse of surprise, down the handful of steep steps and landing in a heap at the bottom.

" _Wow, this idiot is where I chose to place my affections? This is my life now. These are my choices."_

She thought sarcastically with a small smile and a shake of her head. She stepped forward then and her first instinct was to laugh because his tumble had been reminiscent of the epic fails from America's Funniest Home Videos. But the laughter died on her lips when she saw the clear expression of pain on his face as he sat, shocked, on the floor.

She rushed down to him, noticing the way he cradled his left arm and wheezed when he moved to sit on the bottom step to catch his breath. All trace of amusement was gone and she crouched down beside him, reaching forward to touch his arm. He shied away from her touch.

"I wouldn't do that, love," he ground out, gritting his teeth in pain, "It's…uh…definitely broken."

Emma's eyes widened and her gaze shot up to meet his in alarm. She could see his forearm appeared to be at an odd angle, but he was shielding most of it from her. When he shifted, she gasped.

"Is that…is that your _bone_?!"

She cried, her hand flying to her mouth, and he winced as he nodded. She stood up quickly, hurriedly telling him she'd run to the lobby and call for an ambulance.

"Emma, wait. It'll…be quicker…" he was wheezing and wincing, struggling with his words through the hazy fog of pain, "it'll be quicker…if you drive. I'll g-guide you."

She nodded numbly, helping him up the steps and feeling him sway unsteadily as he leaned heavily on her for support. His vision was blurring at the edges and he was fighting to remain conscious. He sucked in air through his teeth, trying to focus on anything but the white-hot tendrils of pain that made his stomach churn with every slight movement.

"I'm a fucking idiot…"

He mumbled, the fingers of his good hand gripping Emma's shoulder tightly as they moved as quickly as possible toward the lobby. Emma shook her head.

"Yeah, but you're my fucking idiot."

She said as lightly as she could manage. She couldn't help but feel a little bit responsible. If she hadn't worried him with her paranoid panicking, he wouldn't have switched her rooms and therefore wouldn't have been anywhere near those much-too-steep steps. She didn't vocalize her guilt, because she knew he'd scoff at her for it. But that didn't stop her feeling it regardless.

Grabbing his car keys from behind the reception desk, Emma helped Killian into the passenger seat and ran round to jump in behind the wheel. She'd never driven on the left before and she decided not to divulge that fact to him. He already had enough to worry about with directing her. She also happened to be particularly dreadful at following driving directions (in her own defense, she reasoned, at home she had a driver who mostly saw to it that she rarely sat behind the wheel and he'd once informed her, jokingly, that he felt safer knowing she wasn't let loose in control of a vehicle).

" _This is going to be…interesting."_

She thought, taking a deep breath and switching on the ignition. The four-wheel drive roared to life but her heart sank as she looked down at the gear stick.

"Killian? I've…erm…never driven a stick shift before…"


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long, guys! But here it is.  
> If you're wanting a visual for Jane, I've based her on Lexie Grey (Grey's Anatomy) looks-wise and her personality is kinda Felicity Smoak (Arrow)-esque. Sweet, kind and adorably awkward, but with a nice side of sass.  
> And remember, comments and kudos feed my muse! She's needy ;) You're all the bestest!

"What the hell is a roundabout?! Killian, I don't know what you're telling me! Oh my god, is that a cow in the road?!"

Emma had never felt quite as stressed as she did speeding clumsily down winding country roads that seamlessly led on to quiet freeways. She'd played sold out shows in front of tens of thousands of people around the world…but driving on British roads with absolutely no idea where she was going was definitely topping her list of Most Stressful Experiences.

Killian was verging on delirious with the immense amount of pain from his arm and he couldn't bring himself to look at it again. He'd yelped quite loudly when Emma had insisted on wrapping her jacket around it to slow the bleeding before they'd pulled out of the driveway, and now he was doing his best to keep it as still as possible, despite Emma's jerky driving each time she changed gears.

He tried his best to give her directions, taking deep, steadying breaths through his nose to fend off the nausea and attempt to keep himself from passing out. He was gritting his teeth and digging his nails into his thigh through his jeans because he remembered hearing once that inflicting pain to somewhere else on your body distracted your brain from the original pain. It wasn't really working.

"Take the exit at the next junction. The roundabout will be coming up in five minutes. It's a big circle on the road that you go around. Not across. Do _not_ drive across it, Emma."

He wheezed, noticing that when he inhaled, the ribs on his left side shifted and it felt like he was being stabbed every time they did so. He couldn't believe that he'd managed to injure himself quite so badly from falling down a flight of nine steps. Granted, it was a _steep_ flight of nine steps.

"Oh please, I _probably_ wouldn't have driven across it…" she shot back, attempting to find the humor in the situation, "this exit?"

Killian nodded and she glanced over at him, praying silently that he'd manage to stay conscious at least until they arrived at the hospital. As she cautiously navigated the roads, the last thing on her mind was the fact that she was taking a huge risk by leaving the hotel.

The idea of Killian going to the hospital alone hadn't even been an option in her mind. All thoughts of protecting herself and remaining safe in the confines of the hotel had flown out of her head and the only thing she could think about was getting him medical attention.

If he hadn't been bleeding so much, or had sustained a more minor injury, perhaps she would have stopped for a moment and realized that her feelings for Killian were making her careless. The moment she stepped into that ER, anyone could recognize her and it would almost definitely get back to Neal somehow. But that didn't even occur to her as she swung the car awkwardly round the roundabout, holding her breath as she did so and only breathing again once she was safely back onto a straight road.

"Your roads are awful…shit, I'm on the wrong side!"

She cried, turning the wheel sharply and forcing the car into the correct lane moments before a car speeding in the opposite direction blared its horn at her. Killian had his eyes tight shut now and she wasn't entirely sure whether it was from the pain in his arm or their near-death experience with a pick-up truck on a two-lane road.

It felt like an eternity before he finally told her that they were approaching the hospital, but they managed to get through the rest of the journey without almost dying again. The relief that washed over her as the huge building came into view ahead of them was fleeting though, and she jumped out of the car the moment she pulled up in front of the ER doors.

Calling for help from a man she spotted wearing scrubs, she rounded the car and helped him out. The moment he stood up, the color drained from his face she knew immediately that he'd finally lost the fight to remain conscious. As he slumped against her, she instinctively wrapped her arms around him to keep him from falling to the floor.

Thankfully, the man in scrubs ran over with a wheelchair and helped her to move the dead weight of an unconscious Killian into it before quickly leading her through the ER doors. She followed in a daze, totally unaware of the staring and double takes from strangers as she went.

As the man in scrubs bustled through a set of swinging double doors, a woman wearing a matching set of scrubs stopped them, immediately taking the wheelchair from the man and glancing up at Emma. She stopped dead for a moment and stared at her, before shaking her head and nodding toward one of the bays.

"We'll take him into this cubicle and then I'll come get all his details, okay? Are you family? Because if not, you're gonna have to wait outside once he's booked in."

"Oh… yeah. I'm his girlfriend."

Emma stumbled over her words and she felt the quick flutter of her heart as they left her lips. She didn't want to be sat outside anxiously waiting to hear that he was alright, and that was the _only_ reason she'd allowed the lie to fall from her lips. Or at least, that's what she was silently trying to convince herself.

They hadn't discussed what they actually were to one another, and hearing herself telling this stranger so easily that Killian was her boyfriend unnerved her just the slightest bit.

The woman nodded and as she wheeled Killian into a cubicle, he began to stir. He immediately screamed out as the pain returned with his consciousness and the woman pushed Emma aside, two others rushing in to help her in getting Killian onto the hospital bed.

He was thankfully rather complicit once he was lying back on the bed, his arm still wrapped up with Emma's jacket and cradled against his chest. He was clutching his left side though and wincing on every labored in-breath. One of the doctors noticed that immediately and turned to Emma.

"Can you…" he stopped, just as the woman had when she'd first seen her, "Sorry, erm…can you tell me what happened?"

Emma shifted and glanced over at Killian, who managed to grace her with a small smile despite his pain.

"He fell down stairs. It was a steep flight of stairs and I'm pretty sure I saw the bone sticking out of his arm."

Emma frowned, watching as the two doctors with Killian exchanged a pointed glance when they carefully unwrapped the jacket from his arm. She knew that wasn't a good sign.

"Okay, ma'am. I'm gonna ask you to step outside with me and give me your partner's details so I can book him into our system, while my colleagues check out his injuries."

Emma nodded numbly, her arms folded across her chest and her whole body beginning to tremble with the shock of it all. He led her to a workstation just outside the cubicle and clicked away at the computer for a few moments before requesting all the information she'd expected. Name, date of birth, home address and so on.

She reeled off the details and, as he typed, the man looked up at her again.

"I'm sorry, I know you must get this all the time, but you look so much like that singer, Emma Swan."

Emma grimaced and it was only then that the full force of realization hit her. She was stood in the middle of a busy ER; completely oblivious to the fact that people were pointing and whispering all around her, and she hadn't even given a second thought to the fact that her cover was now well and truly blown.

The instinctive need to excuse herself and find the nearest bathroom to hide out in while she regained her composure was difficult to fight, but she just about managed to do so. Swallowing hard, she forced a smile, her voice much calmer than she felt.

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

He eyed her carefully and she could feel the heat rising on her cheeks. In her haste to get Killian help, she'd been careless. Her feelings for him had overshadowed her fear of being found and she'd been so focused on his wellbeing that she'd completely forgotten, for a brief time, that she was in hiding.

"Guess it's the accent too," the man pointed out, "We don't get many Americans around-"

"Can I go back in with Killian now?"

She cut him off quickly, desperate to avoid saying something that would blow her cover even further. She looked over her shoulder toward the cubicle where she could hear groans of pain and the muffled reassurances of the doctors. The man gestured for her to go ahead and she rushed back behind the temporarily safe confines of the curtained cubicle.

* * *

\--------------------

After being shuttled back and forth for x-rays and poked and prodded more than Killian really felt was necessary, he was finally informed by one of the nurses that the anesthetist was on his way down to prep him for surgery. When Emma had stepped out earlier, one of the doctors had told him he was more than likely going to need a metal plate in his arm, but he'd been silently hoping it was less serious than they'd thought.

Emma, however, hadn't been prepared for the idea that he might need surgery. She sat quietly, holding his good hand tightly when the anesthetist arrived and calmly explained the procedure, risks and aftercare to them. Killian could see the tears in Emma's eyes as she listened silently, and he interlaced their fingers, squeezing softly in a silent effort to reassure her that everything would be just fine.

When the doctor left them alone again, a single tear slid down Emma's cheek and she quickly brushed it away, offering him a pained smile.

"Maybe we should make up a good story for you to tell after this. Because falling down some stairs is gonna sound like a pretty lame reason for needing a metal plate in your arm."

She joked, but he could hear the note of fear in her voice. Chuckling, he shook his head. The pain meds they'd given him had kicked in and he was feeling pleasantly numb.

"How about we tell everyone I saved you from an escaped mountain lion?"

Killian suggested, closing his eyes and chuckling, the morphine making his head fuzzy and the mental image he'd conjured of chasing a mountain lion across the lawn was proving extremely amusing to him.

"Are there many mountain lions in the English countryside?"

Emma laughed, rolling her eyes and remembering how out-of-it she'd been when she'd had her wisdom teeth removed at fourteen. Mary Margaret still occasionally reminded her of some of the horrifically humiliating statements she'd come out with while high on pain meds.

"Well there's some mean stray cats, if they count?"

Killian murmured, the lightness of his tone telling her that the morphine was certainly doing its job. Their lighthearted banter continued for a little while longer until he was taken up to surgery. Emma stood awkwardly watching him being wheeled off down the hallway, anxiously chewing her thumbnail and attempting to fight back tears. She'd promised Killian that while he was in surgery she'd call Liam and let him know what was going on, so focusing her mind on that task, she ducked her head and made her way to the exit, making sure to avoid attracting any sort of attention.

* * *

\------------------

Killian's surgery lasted a little under three hours. Liam had pulled up to the hospital thirty minutes after Emma had called him and attempted to assure him that everything was under control. Predictably, he'd taken out his frustration and worry on her.

He had, of course, blamed her for the current predicament and reminded her that she was nothing but bad news for his brother. She had been half-expecting his reaction, so she simply took it and fought back her innate urge to retaliate.

"That's enough, Liam! Leave her alone, this isn't Emma's fault and you know it," Jane had forcibly stepped between Liam and Emma, her hand on Liam's chest pushing him back and forcing him to back off, "I get that you're upset. We all are. But taking it out on her isn't helping."

She offered a small smile of apology to Emma and threw a glare at Liam. The anger was still radiating from Liam in waves but he relented to his girlfriend's orders and moved away, turning his back on them and running a hand through his hair.

They were stood outside, and his little outburst had drawn the attention of the few people who were milling around. Emma was acutely aware of everyone who cast a glance their way, and had purposely stayed well out of the way of the waiting room, knowing she'd be a sitting duck in there.

"He's really protective of Killian, as you've probably realized by now," Jane said gently, reaching out to squeeze Emma's arm reassuringly, "So don't take it personally, because I'm pretty sure he'd be a little bitch to anyone his baby brother got involved with."

Emma smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. She appreciated the woman coming to her defense, when she really wouldn't have blamed her for sharing Liam's views. She _was_ bad news, especially now that her cover was undoubtedly blown. Killian was going to be dragged into her mess of a life and it was entirely her fault. She'd let him in, had let feelings get involved, when she knew it was only going to make things that much more complicated.

After Jane had dragged Liam aside and they'd shared what appeared to be a heated, colorfully worded exchange, the three of them headed up to surgical recovery to await any news on Killian. There was a silent tension between Jane and Liam, that much was clear, and Emma was acutely aware of the pointed glances Liam was receiving from his girlfriend.

They sat down anxiously in the waiting room together, eagerly attempting eye contact with anyone wearing scrubs happening to approach their general vicinity. After a little while longer of heavy glances aimed Liam's way, he finally heaved a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Emma," he grumbled, clearly coerced into the apology by Jane, "I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did. I'm just worried about Killian and I took that out on you. Sorry."

Jane smiled at him and nodded and Emma held his gaze for a moment before offering him a weak smile and holding her hand out - a peace offering, of sorts.

"Why don't we just start over? We didn't really get off on the right foot. Hi, I'm Emma."

Liam's eyes, so very similar to Killian's, dropped to her hand and he hesitated for a moment before reaching out and grasping it in a firm handshake.

"Liam. Nice to meet you, Emma."

He said quietly and she could easily read the wariness in his voice and his deceptively expressive eyes. She didn't blame him, really. He was protective of his little brother, and the only outcome Liam could see when he watched Killian with Emma was heartbreak. Again. And he wasn't sure Killian would be able to put the pieces back together for a second time when she – inevitably, in Liam's eyes – walked away.

Jane stood up then and both Emma and Liam's gazes lifted questioningly.

"We're gonna be here a while, I'm guessing. So Emma and I will go get coffee and you can wait here for any news. How does that sound?"

Liam pressed his lips together, an objection clearly teetering on his tongue, but whatever he was about to say died on his lips and he simply responded with a succinct nod. Emma knew she could definitely go for a caffeine hit (and she idly wondered if they'd throw a shot of something a little stronger in there too) so she had no objections, following Jane out into the hallway and throwing a cursory glance either way to make sure no one had clocked her. Luckily, there were very few people milling about, mostly members of staff who were too engrossed in charts and conversations to pay the two women any attention.

"He needs some time on his own to process all of this," Jane said gently, looping her arm through Emma' as they walked, "He struggles to accept the fact that Killy is an adult and can make his own decisions. Liam and I practically raised him, so the line between brother and father sometimes blurs for him. He was always protective, don't get me wrong, but after the accident…I don't know how much Killy's told you about losing Milah, but it was a rough few years after that."

Emma swallowed hard and nodded, remembering Killian opening up to her about his dead fiancée and the hollow ache in her chest she'd felt seeing the flash of pain in that too-blue gaze.

" _I watched her slip away in the middle of a car wreck on a Tuesday night…"_

His words had echoed in her mind for days after, and she shook her head as they returned with a vengeance.

"I totally get why Liam doesn't like me and I don't expect him to welcome me with open arms considering everything he's probably heard. I know that from the outside this… _thing_ with Killian looks like a rebound or something. But I swear to you, I wouldn't do that to him. Neither of us understood it, but there was an instant connection when we met…and I know that sounds so ridiculously cliché, but I've never felt about anyone the way I feel for Killian. It…kinda scares me, I'll be honest."

A rueful smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she felt Jane squeeze her arm reassuringly as they walked into the hospital store. But if she'd been about to reply, the words were lost as three teenagers who were huddled around the magazine stands started squealing and Emma felt her heart sink when she saw that their attention was focused on her, their eyes wide with excitement.

"Oh my god, please can we get a picture with you?"

One of the young girls asked and Emma felt the panic rising within her but quickly schooled her face into the mask she was so used to wearing now. She'd perfected the art of the fake smile but the teens were so starstruck and overwhelmed by her presence that she knew they probably wouldn't have noticed either way.

"Sure you can. Let's take some selfies."

She smiled warmly, her chirpy enthusiasm emerging from the place she always kept it stored for 'just in case' situations like this. Jane had stepped back but was watching her carefully and Emma noticed how impressed she looked with the acting skills currently being demonstrated.

The three girls simultaneously fumbled with their cell phones, giggling and brimming with nervous excitement as they turned their cameras round to face them and crowded into a group shot. Emma saw her face pop up on three screens and smiled brightly, resting her chin on one of the girl's shoulders and gazing into each camera in turn, the way she had done thousands of times before with thousands of different fans.

One of the girls couldn't seem to stop shaking in order to take a photo, so Emma held out her hand and smiled.

"Here, let me."

She grinned as the girl gawped at her before handing her the phone with a trembling hand, 'oh my god' muttered under her breath. Emma draped an arm over the teen's shoulder and snapped a quick photo before handing the phone back to her.

"We love you so much! We've been to seven of your shows and my name's Emma too."

One of the girl's bumbled, her cheeks bright red as she gazed up at Emma in awe. The two other girls hung behind her, matching expressions and beaming smiles on their young faces. Part of Emma ached for that feeling of pure joy, the excitement they clearly felt, but it warmed her heart too. No matter what she was going through in real life, or how much she struggled with the realities of living under a microscope that the whole world was looking down, meeting young people who were clearly inspired by her did make a difference.

"Well, hey, Emma. Thank you for coming to all those shows; I appreciate that a lot. And what's your names, girls?"

"Hannah!" and "Lexie!" quickly supplied their names and nervously held out the magazines they'd tucked under their arms with polite requests for her autograph. Glancing down at the covers, Emma saw her own face and Neal's staring back at her and had to quickly squash the wave of alarm causing her throat to instantly constrict.

" _Neal desperate to bring Emma home!"_

She felt anger immediately bubble up inside her as she read the tagline under their picture, but knew she couldn't very well vent that frustration in front of three kids. So, as calmly as she could, consciously maintaining her perfect Hollywood smile, she took the magazines and scribbled her signature across Neal's face before handing them back and reminding them lightheartedly to pay for the magazines. She then waved goodbye to them and grabbed Jane's arm, intent on getting the hell out of the store as quickly as possible, caffeine be damned.

Jane asked no questions, but she could quite clearly see that the magazine covers had upset Emma and when she'd spied the taglines, she could understand why. From the very little Killian had spoken about Emma and Neal's breakup, she assumed it was complicated. But there hadn't seemed to be an ounce of uncertainty in the permanence of their split, at least not from Killian's point of view.

"Are you okay?"

Jane asked tentatively when the elevator doors finally shut in front of them, the tension in Emma's shoulders very apparent. She visibly deflated and sighed deeply.

"He's an asshole. Neal, I mean. He's not 'desperate to bring me home' or whatever crap he's feeding to the media. Or, he is, but not for the _reasons_ he's shouting about. He's desperate to control me and get me back to being his good little puppy. And when I finally found the courage to call him out on his bullshit and told him I was done, he got abusive," at Jane's horrified expression, she chewed on her bottom lip, "not physically. He's never _physically_ hurt me. But I wouldn't be all that surprised if he tried to now that the emotional abuse isn't working."

Jane remained quiet, not knowing what she could possibly say to comfort this woman who seemed so damn indestructible from the outside. Admittedly, she didn't know all that much about Emma, other than what everyone apparently knew. She was America's Sweetheart. She sold millions of records worldwide and had a pretty far-reaching fanbase. And she wasn't a party girl, unlike so many other stars her age. That pretty much summed up Jane's knowledge, generally being oblivious to celebrity gossip and preferring to remain that way.

"I just don't want Killian to get dragged into all this. Neal is…possessive. When I first moved to LA, that made me feel safe – having him beside me constantly, threatening anyone who dared to get too close. But it kept me pretty isolated as well, and I didn't realize it back then. I thought he was taking care of me…I thought he loved me."

Emma's gaze dropped to the floor, a shaky sigh passing her lips, and she hated how weak she sounded. But it felt like somewhat of a relief to talk about it, when she'd always kept everything bottled up. Running a hand through her tangled mess of blonde curls, she stepped forward as the doors rolled open and Jane followed silently.

As they approached the waiting room and saw Liam still sitting in the same seat, idly scrolling through his phone, Jane stopped her.

"Just so you know, Emma…Killian will never hurt you like Neal has."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a lot shorter than the rest, but I felt it was a good place to leave this chapter...and please don't hate me ;)

Killian's nightmare was always the same. It started with sirens, loud and angry, blue and red flashes behind his eyelids. The fear, swirling like acid in his stomach, would steadily climb until he felt like he was suffocating on it, sharp tendrils of terror clamping down on his windpipe.

Then he'd see her face, Milah's face. He'd see her grey-blue eyes wide and boring into his own, as he held her tight and screamed, pleading with her not to leave him, not to slip away in his arms. He'd watch helplessly as the light in her eyes dulled, the flame flickering out right in front of him until her last breath caught in her throat, a soft sigh signaling that she'd gone.

It was always the same.

Until now. Until he realized, with utter horror, that the eyes he was looking down into were green, with tiny flecks of gold that he already knew by heart. And the name falling from his lips in choked whimpers, lodging in his throat, wasn't Milah. It was Emma.

His entire world was spinning, heart pounding a painful staccato against his ribs, as he dropped desperate kisses and pleas onto her lips and felt his name ghosting from her mouth in a hoarse reply.

"Emma, no…Gods, love, please don't leave me."

He didn't even recognize his own voice as he begged her to stay, hot tears streaking down his cheeks. It was all so vivid that he could feel her soft skin under his thumb when he swiped it across her tear-stained cheek, watching as her lashes fluttered in response.

The chaos around them had faded into nothing but a muted hum, barely registering with him. All he could focus on was the last few precious seconds of having her in his arms, knowing that he would ever mend the shattered pieces of his heart she was going to leave behind.

"Killian, it's okay. Killian...I'm right here, open your eyes."

Confusion mingled with the devastation that was coursing through him with bruising force and suddenly the blue and red lights were fading, replaced by a harsh iridescent glow and whitewashed walls.

He blinked rapidly, his heart still racing, but reality quickly started seeping back with his consciousness. He had no idea where he was, but it smelled like bleach and sorrow. His eyes open wide now, they darted to the side and softened the instant he met Emma's worried gaze.

His stomach felt strange, like he was swimming and had tried to put his feet down on something solid, but had found the water deeper than he'd anticipated and there was no way to find his footing. But the moment his eyes found hers, that unsettled feeling began to ease.

Her green eyes were so bright, unlike the fading emeralds he'd been staring into just seconds ago. Her name fell from his lips like a prayer, relief fluttering around his heart, and he reached for her, needing to touch her to really ground himself, to really find his footing.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

She whispered, letting him pull her into his embrace and instinctively burying her face into the crook of his shoulder, while his fingers carded through her hair. She could feel his pulse racing against her cheek and couldn't help but wonder what he'd been seeing behind his closed eyes when he'd cried out her name so brokenly.

His heart rate had sped up on the monitor and a sudden, hoarse cry had torn through the stillness, startling Jane, Liam and Emma who had been sat patiently waiting for him to come round from the anesthetic. The three of them were immediately by his bedside, but it was Emma's name that he'd whimpered as he reached for her.

Liam was rooted to the spot in silence as he watched his brother's broken expression vanish the moment his eyes found Emma, and he felt Jane squeezing his arm gently. They both knew that cry too well.

They had been startled awake so many times by Killian's devastated voice down the hallway calling Milah's name into the darkness. It had happened almost every night in the year following the accident, but gradually it had become a rare occurrence. He'd finally stopped reliving those final moments every single night.

Until now.

Hearing his little brother cry out _Emma's_ name, a quiet "please don't leave me" whimpered from his semi-conscious state, had Liam's heart cracking painfully in his chest. When he glanced at Jane, he knew she'd heard it too, knew he wasn't the only one who had instantly flashed back to four years ago.

Killian pulled back to find Emma's gaze then, his thumb brushing over her cheek as though to assure himself she really was there. She smiled at him, tears in her eyes, and softly reassured him again that she wasn't going anywhere.

Whatever he'd seen, she could tell it had rattled him to the core, leaving behind a haunted look in his eyes that he'd only ever had when he'd spoken about Milah. And by the troubled glances she noticed Liam and Jane exchanging, Emma knew he was reliving moments from his past…though this time she was apparently the one he was losing.

"Killy, you're in the hospital," Jane said softly, smiling when Killian's head turned to meet her gaze, "You just had surgery, but you're okay."

The tension seemed to slowly ease out of his shoulders and he leaned back against the bed, looking down at his arm, now in a cast, with a frown until his anesthetic-fogged mind began to clear and he remembered what had happened.

"I broke my arm."

"Yeah, that you did, little brother. Pretty badly. And you cracked two ribs as well, apparently," Liam added, "Because you're a clumsy sod and fell down the stairs."

Killian chuckled lightly, but instantly winced from the pain in his side. Liam sighed and Jane slipped her arm around his waist as she addressed Killian.

"We wanted to be here when you woke up, but we're gonna leave you two alone now," Emma could see from Liam's face that he wasn't thrilled at the idea of leaving but he kept quiet while Jane continued, "You're gonna be allowed home tomorrow if the docs are happy with everything. And maybe we'll keep you away from stairs for a while."

Jane smirked and Killian rolled his eyes, while Liam reached out to ruffle his brother's hair, offering him a small smile before following Jane toward the door. They said their goodbyes and when they'd gone, Emma perched on the side of the bed, a long sigh passing her lips. It had been a long, worrying few hours, but now that he was finally awake, the relief she felt was overwhelming.

"Now, I probably can't say it's the first time a guy's dreamed about me, if I'm being really honest, but…do you wanna talk about that?"

She asked tentatively, knowing that what he'd been seeing behind closed eyes likely wasn't something he'd want to revisit, but at the same time she wasn't about to just ignore the agonized cries that had torn from his lips and how much they'd rattled her.

She saw Killian's jaw clench and reached out to trace the line of stubble, her small hand gently cupping his cheek as she held his gaze, wordlessly telling him that it was _okay_.

It was long moments before he finally found his voice, and when he did, it sounded strained and foreign to his ears. He trained his gaze downward as he spoke.

"I dreamed I was losing you…the way I lost Milah. I've had that dream thousands of times, but…but this time…I saw _you_. I held you as you slipped away."

He could feel his heart pounding, the air in the room suddenly too stifling, too suffocating. Her fingers against his cheek grounded him, but that helpless feeling that took hold every time he remembered that night was churning in his stomach.

"I'm not going anywhere."

She whispered, not knowing how else to reassure him with words. Despite her eloquence in songwriting, Emma had never found it easy to express emotions. The words always lodged in her throat, or burned her tongue, and her lips would press into a thin line to stop them from escaping. She didn't know how to _tell_ him, to assure him that he wasn't losing her. So, before she could really think about it, she let her actions take the place of words.

Killian could see the tears in Emma's eyes as she processed his words and she was suddenly leaning closer, her broken green gaze on his lips. He realized what she was about to do and pulled back quickly, shaking his head and ignoring the way his fingers twitched with the urge to pull her closer. She frowned, confusion flashing across her face.

"Emma…not here. I don't want our first kiss to be in a hospital bed," he reached out and tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, fingers lingering on her cheek, "None of our firsts should be in a hospital bed."

He smiled cheekily and she laughed, not expecting his charming humor so soon after he woke up. She nodded in reply before pressing two fingers to her own lips, which she then pressed gently against his. He smiled against her fingers and she sighed. Toeing off her boots, she pulled her legs up onto the bed and shuffled up to lie next to him.

"Scoot over, Jones," she ordered with a small smile, and he obliged, "I'm sure snuggling doesn't break your strict hospital bed rules."

She turned on her side then and his good arm instinctively wrapped around her, holding her close to him as he pressed a gentle kiss into her hair. She nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his skin against hers and how damn good he smelled.

Being so close to him, the hard planes of his body fitting perfectly against her soft curves, she felt a strange surge in the pit of her stomach. All evening she'd been worrying about him, about the complicated mess she'd left behind in LA, about how she would put her life back together at this point. But lying silently curled into him, feeling his breathing, steady and even under her fingertips as she rested her hand over his heart, she had never felt so at ease.

She felt her eyes getting heavy and didn't bother trying to fight the comforting lull of sleep that was seeping into her bones. Killian had promptly drifted off and she found herself pressing closer into his side, breathing him in, and finally succumbing to sleep with a small smile on her lips.

But as they slept, blissfully oblivious and sated by the effortless, innocent comfort they felt from simply being so close to one another, Emma's presence at the hospital was creating a ripple effect outside the safe confines of Killian's room. It wasn't long before sneaky reporters were milling around, attempting to look unassuming while concealing their zoom lenses, and it was somewhat inevitable that they'd get their money shot: Emma Swan, fast asleep, curled into the arms of a handsome stranger in a hospital bed. They couldn't have dreamed up such a perfect scandal even if they'd tried.

While Emma and Killian slept, the headlines for the next day were frantically being written. The hiding, the secrecy, the safety of nobody knowing where she was…all of that was about to shatter into a thousand pieces. But for just a few more hours, they would get to hold onto their bliss. They would get the best night's sleep either one of them had ever had, and then they'd wake up to chaos.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, I've just had such a major block with getting it to flow!  
> This one is a lot longer than the last chapter, but I couldn't resist the cliffhanger ending...again. LOL. Please don't hate me, I am gonna try my best to update as soon as possible!

Killian awoke first the next morning. As consciousness returned to him, his eyes still closed, he was distinctly aware that he wasn't alone. The warm pressure of Emma's body flush against his side, her hand still resting gently over his heart and one of her legs draped across his over the sheets, made him smile when he opened his eyes and glanced down at her.

Her face was tipped up to him, eyelids fluttering as she dreamed, and he couldn't help but drink in every little detail of her while he was afforded the opportunity to stare. She was beautiful. It wasn't that such an observation was a groundbreaking discovery, but seeing her unguarded, without any of the tension in her features that she seemed to permanently carry, was enough to steal his breath.

She looked so young and angelic when she slept, and Killian's fingers ached to reach up and touch her, but at the same time he wanted to hold onto the moment and was loathed to disturb her in any way. Content to memorize every purse of her lips, every flicker of her eyelids or soft sigh that fell from her lips, he stayed as still as he could.

But this stolen moment of calm didn't last long, because a few minutes later the insistent, shrill sound of his cell phone ringing broke the precious silence. Emma gave a start, instantly awake, and her eyes snapped open, wide with alarm.

Sighing, he fumbled for his phone, finding it difficult with just one hand to work with, and shot Emma an apologetic smile as he quickly answered.

"Yes, brother?"

He said impatiently, his tone of greeting signaling to Liam that he wasn't thrilled at being called so early. Then again, he had no idea what time it actually was.

Emma stifled a yawn and sat up, watching Killian's face and keeping quiet to see whether she could make out what Liam was saying. Judging by the way Killian's shoulders instantly tensed, his jaw clenching, she knew that whatever Liam saying wasn't good and she felt her stomach drop.

He muttered his responses, good hand reaching up to scratch behind his ear, and hung up a few minutes later. Emma searched his face, her worry evident.

"They took pictures of us, love. While we were sleeping."

He said softly, swallowing hard as he watched the realization and fear creep into her eyes. With her legs suddenly feeling like Jell-o, she slid off the bed and started to pace, barefoot, around the room. She ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the tangles, and he watched helplessly as she panicked, chewing on her bottom lip and darting glances toward the door. There was no obvious sign of people hanging around, and she could only assume that the nurses had chased out anyone spending a little too long near Killian's room.

But it was too late. The damage was done.

"How did Liam find out?"

Emma asked tentatively, her voice shaking slightly. She knew the answer, but she needed to hear it. Killian shifted, staring down at the phone in his lap silently for long moments before he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We're all over every newspaper and magazine in town, Emma."

\-----------------------

The first person Emma knew she had to speak to was her sister. So, after pacing Kilian's hospital room for the best part of ten minutes, she excused herself and made for the nearest bathroom. Killian was left staring helplessly after her as she darted out.

Spotting the nearest bathroom, she was relieved to find it empty and locked herself inside a cubicle. Leaning heavily against the door, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket…and saw that she had no signal at all. Damn hospital.

She could feel the familiar feeling of dread curling itself around her as she realized she'd have to venture outside if she wanted to use her phone. She had the distinct feeling that paparazzi wouldn't be all that far away and knew that the moment she stepped outside the hospital, it wouldn't be long before someone would spot her.

Steeling herself, Emma emerged from the cubicle and hurriedly made her way back down the corridor. As she did so, she spotted a service elevator, no doubt for laundry and such, and made the split-second decision to dart inside. Pressing the top floor button, she waited impatiently for the rickety elevator to drag itself upwards.

Long moments later, the door rolled open to reveal bare concrete walls and a single exit door.

The roof.

Feeling a thrill of relief rush through her, Emma stepped out of the elevator and glanced down at her phone, watching as the signal bars shot up the instant she stepped out of the elevator. With a heavy sigh of relief, she quickly hit speed-dial, well aware that it was the middle of the night in LA but not really caring, and held her breath until she heard her sister's sleepy "hello?" filter down the line.

"I'm so sorry for calling at this time-"

"Emma! I was trying to call you last night. What's going on over there? Graham turned up yesterday evening black and blue – Neal beat the crap out of him."

Mary Margaret had clearly shot up in bed the moment she'd heard Emma's voice, and all signs of sleep were instantly chased away. At her words, Emma gasped, her eyes widening and her hand flying to her mouth.

"It was Graham…he messaged me? I-I…I thought it was Neal fucking with me. Oh my god, this is all my fault-"

"Emma. Stop. Just tell me what the hell is going on!"

The no-nonsense tone of her sister's voice, the one she used when was anxious rather than angry, cut her off and she ran a trembling hand through her hair. Her mind was in overdrive and everything was spinning out of control faster than she could catch her breath.

"I…met someone. I've been staying at the hotel David recommended and the guy who helps run the place…nothing's happened yet but I think I'm falling for him. It's complicated. And Graham sent me a text yesterday, just checking in really, and I got paranoid thinking Neal was playing games and got hold of my burner number somehow…I didn't think it was really Graham. Is…is he okay?"

Taking a ragged breath, Emma swallowed the lump in her throat and heard her sister's weary sigh.

"Oh, Emma. He's okay, just a little rattled, and he's sporting quite the black eye. But I'm sorry; I should have told you I'd given him your number, but I couldn't get hold of you. He was so worried and I knew he wouldn't tell Neal…I just didn't count on Neal beating it out of him."

Emma felt her blood run cold, fingers tightening around her cell phone as her heart hammered in her chest painfully. When she finally found her voice again, it was small and terrified and she didn't even recognize the sound of it to her own ears.

"Neal…knows where I am?"

"No. No, he just knows you're in England. He…caught a flight out there last night, I think. But you're out of the way where you are, right? He won't know where to even start looking for you, honey."

Tears of panic began to blur Emma's vision and she leaned against the cool concrete wall to find purchase before she ended up keeling over. Her chest felt too tight, not enough oxygen reaching her lungs with the short, shallow breaths she was taking. Focusing on steadying herself, long inhalations through her nose, it took a moment for her to find her voice.

"I'm at the hospital-"

"Oh my god, are you hurt?"

Mary Margaret was pacing, Emma could tell just by her tone and couldn't help but smile ruefully.

"No, I'm okay. Killian – the guy I mentioned before – he fell down stairs and broke his arm. He had surgery so we've been here overnight…but it's not gonna be long before Neal finds me."

Her voice wavered and she closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall as Mary Margaret inquired as to why that might be.

"You're no doubt gonna find out in the morning…some pap apparently got a picture of us – of me and Killian – in his hospital bed. It was innocent, but it's not gonna be painted that way."

Mary Margaret stayed quiet for a moment, but the tense silence stretched out between them and Emma chewed on her bottom lip anxiously. Just as she thought her sister may have hung up on her, Mary Margaret's tired voice filtered down the line.

"I think it's time you came home, Emma."

\-----------------------

"What do you want me to say?"

Emma was sat at Killian's bedside. She'd been more than a little subdued since returning to his room – and making sure to roll the blinds and shut the door as she did so – but Killian had simply given her the space she needed, which made her heart ache even more.

Looking up at him, an involuntary shiver ghosting over her skin as she met those sea-blue eyes, she frowned, confused.

"What do you mean?"

She asked quietly, fingers knotted together giving her otherwise-well disguised anxiety away. It was a tell of hers that he'd picked up on very quickly.

"When they ask me questions…about _us_. What do you want me to say?"

She stared back at him blankly for a few seconds as his words sank in. He was deferring to her, and she had absolutely no idea how to answer him, because she wasn't even sure what _she_ was supposed to say. There was no doubt they'd be having a field day speculating, but Emma had always simply let Neal deal with the media before now…

"I don't know," she finally answered, her voice small, "I never used to respond to what they'd write about me…Neal always handled it."

Dropping her gaze to her lap, she rubbed her knuckles and sighed, knowing she had to come up with something before Killian was discharged from the hospital.

As if on cue, a young doctor in light blue scrubs knocked and popped his head round the door. Killian and Emma both looked up at him expectantly and he addressed Killian, despite his eyes darting over to Emma repeatedly.

"Erm, Mr. Jones? I'm just here to check your dressing and if it's looking good, I'll sign your discharge papers and you're free to go home."

He offered a nervous smile to Emma before striding over to Killian's side and snapping on some gloves. As she watched, Emma couldn't help but feel the knot of worry in her stomach tighten knowing that they might have to face the unwanted media attention sooner than she'd anticipated if they were ready to discharge him now.

Attempting to quell the panic, she stayed quiet, chewing on her bottom lip. A few minutes later, the doctor smiled brightly and finished reapplying the dressing to Killian's arm.

"Looks good. You'll need to attend fracture clinic next week to get it re-dressed, but I'm happy with how it's looking. I'll just finish your discharge papers and then you can head home."

Killian thanked him and once he'd disappeared out of the room, he turned to Emma. He could easily see the worry in her eyes, but she was doing a remarkably good job of keeping her expression neutral, offering him a small smile that didn't quite manage to reach her eyes.

"We'll be okay. It'll all die down and they'll leave us alone soon enough, I'm sure."

Raising an eyebrow and sighing softly, Emma shook her head. He had no idea what the paparazzi were like, obviously. She wanted to tell him they were like vultures, and that they'd circle and attack until there was nothing left of them to tear apart, but at the same time she didn't want to scare him. They'd no doubt be met with a hundred cameras shoved in their faces the moment they stepped out of the hospital, and that was going to be enough to deal with for now.

Once he was dressed and ready to go, discharge papers signed and Liam texting to let them know he was ready and waiting outside for their great escape, they headed for the exit. Emma's heart was racing and as they were about to step out of the elevator, she slammed her hand down on the emergency stop button. The elevator immediately jerked to a standstill and Killian turned a confused frown toward her.

"Emma? What's-"

"I just need a moment," she answered quickly, voice quivering, "I've never been good at this. I need to psych myself up for it."

He nodded slowly but she could still feel his concerned gaze on her. He tentatively reached out and took hold of her wrist, guiding her into his arms and rubbing soothing circles against her back with his good hand. She melted into his embrace and tried her best to hold onto the stolen moment before they faced the chaos.

Pulling back long seconds later, she looked up at him and managed a small, shaky smile. He brushed his thumb over the apple of her cheek before pushing her hair back behind her ear and letting his fingers linger against the soft skin of her neck.

"I'll be right beside you," he promised, "It'll be over in a few minutes and then we can just ignore whatever crap they decide to write about us. Screw them. Seriously, I don't care what they say; all I care about is you."

He smiled down at her and for a moment she was sure he was about to lean down and kiss her, so her eyelashes fluttered and her gaze dropped to his lips. He sensed her anticipation and gently grazed the dimple in her chin with his thumb.

"Afterwards. I want to take my time and kiss you the way you deserve to be kissed, Emma."

She felt a flood of heat surge through her at his words, her breath hitching as she bit her bottom lip. When he said things like that she wanted nothing more than to push him against the nearest flat surface and kiss him senseless. But now was not the time, and they couldn't stay locked in the elevator forever.

So, reluctantly, Emma reached over and released the emergency stop button, feeling her stomach clenching painfully, tendrils of fear causing her entire body to stiffen, as the automated voice announced their arrival on the ground floor a few seconds later.

The doors rolled open slowly and Emma slipped her hand into Killian's as they both steeled themselves, sharing a glance before they both took a deep breath and stepped out together.

\-----------------------

"Emma! EMMA!"

"Ms. Swan!"

"Emma, over here!"

Her head was spinning as a hundred flashes exploded before her eyes the very second they emerged through the automatic doors. A handful of bemused hospital security guards were fighting the gaggle of photographers back but they were significantly outnumbered and Emma knew they would be surrounded in seconds if they didn't get out of there fast.

Looking up at Killian, she realized she had absolutely no idea what Liam was driving; he squeezed her hand and ducked his head after pointedly glancing over to an SUV very similar to his own that was parked right in the center of the drop off zone. As she followed his gaze, she saw Liam jump out of the driver's side and hurry round to open the door of the backseat for them.

Feeling her heart hammering, the flashes still blinding her, she gritted her teeth and pushed past a few photographers who rammed their cameras closer to her face than she felt would really ever be appropriate, and tugged Killian behind her.

It was the longest few minutes she'd faced in a long while and when they were finally inside the safe confines of the car, she realized she'd been holding her breath. The second the doors were closed behind them, Liam put his foot down and none of them spoke until the hospital had disappeared out of view.

"It's over. You can breathe now."

Killian said gently, his hand still clasping hers, and she lifted a rueful gaze to meet his soft smile.

"This has barely even started, Killian," her voice was strained and she watched his smile falter, "They're relentless and they'll make up whatever they want to print a story. And…Neal's in England. So, it's probably not going to be very long before he tracks me down."

Killian's wavering smile was replaced instantly by a frown then, his good hand tightening around hers before he let go and rubbed his face. He kept quiet for the majority of the journey back to the hotel, and Emma was acutely aware of Liam's careful glances in the rearview mirror. She couldn't blame him for worrying; the situation they were in was about to get a hell of a lot more complicated and Killian didn't deserve to be dragged through hell for a girl he'd only really just met.

When they finally pulled up outside the hotel, she was relieved to find no photographers camped outside the front doors. That meant they perhaps hadn't put enough pieces together just yet to track Killian, and therefore Emma herself, down and they had a little bit more time to figure out their next move.

Mary Margaret's words from earlier, about it being time to go home, were still playing on her mind as she followed Killian and Liam into the lobby and waited for the younger man to grab her room key from behind the desk. She hadn't even seen the room she'd been moved to yet, and she idly wondered whether her suitcase was still sat in the hallway where they'd left it when they'd hurried to get Killian to the hospital the day before.

"I put your case in your room."

Liam informed her, as though reading her mind, dropping down to sit on the seat behind the desk and casting her a quick glance. She nodded and thanked him quietly as Killian canted his head toward the hallway leading to their rooms.

"I'll walk with you," he offered, "I'm going to my room anyway."

She followed him and they walked in comfortable silence, her mind still full of thoughts she really needed to unscramble. But when he gently, tentatively, bumped her hand with his, interlacing their fingers when he caught the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, all those noisy thoughts were silenced.

He slowed his pace and tugged her hand, turning her so that she was facing him. Emma felt her heart stumble at their sudden, intimate proximity and she couldn't help but dart a glance down the hallway.

"Killian…"

She started, but he shook his head and grazed his thumb over her knuckles, making an involuntary shiver run up her arm. Even the slightest touch from him could illicit responses from her body that were anything but familiar.

"I just want you to know," he started, his voice a low rumble that sent a bolt of heat straight to her center, "I don't care what we have to face, I won't leave your side. We can learn how to deal with it together."

She felt her heart twisting at his words and her breath caught in her throat as he leaned closer, lifting his good hand and tracing the line of her jaw with his fingers ever so gently, as though he was touching the most delicate, precious flower in the world.

He scared the hell out of her and calmed her soul, both at the same time, when he looked at her the way he was doing in that moment. And she couldn't help but think that maybe _that_ was what love was – a complicated, terrifying contradiction that somehow balanced everything out. Because she'd never felt as off-kilter yet so sure of everything as she did when his eyes were burning holes into her soul.

"Could you please just kiss me, already?"

She whispered breathlessly, his lips so close that she could _feel_ the magnetic pull between them that had been there, growing in intensity, since the first moment they'd met. His lips twitched into a smile and he held her gaze for a moment longer before slowly, _so slowly_ , closing the space between them and touching his lips to hers. Even with her request, he was still silently asking her permission.

Despite the fact that she'd been anticipating it (for _weeks_ if she's being honest), she still inhaled sharply and her eyes instinctively closed, willingly getting lost in the sensations he was stirring with the brush of his warm lips against her own. She breathed him in and pressed herself closer to him, one hand splayed delicately against his ribs while the other tangled in his hair, toying with the small wisps at the nape of his neck.

She felt a groan rumble in his throat and it was like her insides had caught fire, the heat he was creating in her ready to burn them both up. His right hand was in her hair, pulling her closer still and effortlessly deepening the kiss. She felt the touch of his tongue against her lips, a cautious request, and immediately complied, tilting her head to kiss him a little more thoroughly when his tongue swept against her own.

She had never felt so completely consumed by a simple kiss, but the way his lips were slanted against hers made it feel as though every nerve ending in her body was screaming his name. She had no idea how long they stood there, in the middle of the hallway, completely lost in one another, but she eventually pulled back, wonderstruck and breathing hard. He looked just as affected as she did and she couldn't help but smile, touching their foreheads together gently as they attempted to steady their racing hearts.

"That was…"

He started, and she could quite clearly hear how wrecked he was. His pupils were blown black, just the slightest hint of blue around the edges, and she was struck with the urge to kiss him again, to never _stop_ kissing him.

"Long overdue."

She whispered against his lips, her eyes dancing with amusement. Considering that the build up to their first kiss had been ridiculously and excruciatingly long, she was well aware of how unfulfilling it could have turned out to be. But that was certainly _not_ the word she'd use to describe what they'd just shared.

He grinned down at her, the hand that had been in her hair now gently against her neck, his thumb brushing against her pulse point and causing it to jump involuntarily. She couldn't help but marvel at the way her body responded so keenly to every single touch he administered and she couldn't help but indulge her imagination as he dropped a few more soft kisses onto her lips.

A mental image of herself arching beneath him, his lips pressed to that deliciously sensitive spot under her ear, and his hands gripping her hips as he pressed her into the soft sheets of his bed with each smooth thrust of his hips flashed through her mind. A white hot flash of heat hit her core and she knew they had to stop before she dragged him down to her room and made that daydream a reality.

So, reluctantly, she stepped back, a smile on her face despite the loss she felt with some distance back between them. He gave her that smile that always made butterflies take flight in her stomach, before he nodded toward the door leading out to his room.

"I'll just be across the courtyard if you want me," the sparkle in his eyes told her he meant exactly what she suspected he meant, "but otherwise I'll see you for lunch in a little while."

She watched with a barely-contained smile as he sauntered off to his room, a thrill running through her at the knowledge that he was clearly just as affected by their kiss as she was. She felt like she was on some kind of cloud, and the touch of his lips had chased away every fear and worry that had been weighing down so heavily on her since the moment she found out her cover was blown.

Sighing happily and shaking her head at herself, feeling like a silly teenage girl with a major crush, she practically skipped down the steps to her room. Turning the lock and slipping inside, she leaned back against the door and let her eyes fall shut for just one more moment of savoring the way her body still buzzed for him, already craving his touch again.

But when she heard the shuffle of footsteps in her room, her eyes snapped open and every warm, pleasant sensation lingering from Kilian's kiss instantly disappeared. She stood frozen, eyes wide with shock, her blood turning to ice in her veins as she choked on a gasp.

"Hello, Emma."

Neal sneered.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a spot of violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for all the incredible feedback you guys have been leaving for this fic, especially those of you who review every chapter! You give me LIFE! I appreciate you all so much.  
> Yes, Neal is an absolute horror and a total asshole in this fic, because I am not exactly a Neal fan lol! :) Oh, and Jane is my very own Felicity Smoak!  
> Thank you to my amazing BFF/beta Hannah for being on top form and always inspiring me. You are my soulmate/brain twin and I love you.  
> (Afternote: I was alerted by my dear friend Alanna that Chapter 13 hadn't been uploaded on here, even though I posted it to FFnet aaaaages ago! I do apologize, I don't know how I overlooked posting it on here! But hey, you get two chapters at once if you didn't catch this update over on FFnet!)

"Neal…"

Emma could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears as she stared, horrified, at the man in front of her. She must be hallucinating. She _had_ to be. Because how else could he have found her so quickly? She stood rooted to the spot with shock.

"Did you _really_ think I wouldn't find you, Emma?"

He slowly stepped forward; eyes burning into hers with a coldness that made her shrink back, a shiver of fear sweeping over her skin. Her legs felt like Jell-o but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her crumble, so she clenched her jaw and stepped forward, lifting her chin to meet his glare head-on and standing toe-to-toe with him, knowing her gaze was equally as icy as his.

She saw the way his jaw twitched at her sudden confident defiance and she couldn't help but silently applaud herself for that small victory.

"And you think I'm just gonna submit to you and come back home like a good little puppy? I am _done_ with you-"

Despite the cold fire in her eyes and the way she managed to keep her voice from shaking, Emma certainly didn't feel as strong as she sounded. And that small burst of confidence was quickly doused out when Neal suddenly shoved her, hard, against the door behind her, eyes flashing with fury.

She gasped at the impact, the air knocked out of her lungs. Her heart was racing so fast it was making her light-headed, and Neal's sudden and unexpected presence had thrown her for loop. She couldn't help but dare a glance over his shoulder as he stepped forward again, unconsciously searching for the best way to escape.

He had her trapped, and the only way she could get out was back through the door she was now pressed against. He was standing too close for her to simply pull open the door and make a run for it though. She could feel her façade of icy indifference beginning to waver but she refused to let him see that.

Slipping her hand into her pocket, she subtly fumbled for her phone, sure she could manage to hit speed dial and alert Killian to what was going on. But her heart sank as she found her pocket empty and suddenly remembered handing Killian her phone before they left the hospital. She was stuck, and she could feel the panic swirling painfully in her stomach as that realization hit her, rising up and making her want to gag.

"H-how did you find me?"

She asked, the waver in her voice betraying her stony expression. And she knew he'd caught it because he smirked, his hand slamming into the door beside her head and making her wince.

"I will _always_ find you. When Graham said he hadn't heard from you, I knew he was lying. I saw your text, with the foreign number, and I had that number traced. That's a perk to having all the _connections_ I have, Emma. I also taught your beloved Graham a lesson, and then I had the jet bring me out here. Last night, I got a phone call letting me know you were in a hospital up here with some guy called Killian Jones. Do you know how easy it is to locate someone with a name like _that_?"

He twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers and leaned in, his lips so close to hers that she had to resist the urge to shudder. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd noticed the scruff burn or that her lips had been very well kissed just moments before she'd entered the room.

"You don't just leave the fucking country because I forgot we had a date, Emma."

"It was our anniversary. And it wasn't the first time."

She shot back quietly, every part of her screaming to push him away, to slap him, to do _anything_ but stand so close to him. She could smell the coffee and mint on his breath, a taste she'd once loved when she kissed him. Now, it turned her stomach and she wondered how she'd ever craved that, how she'd ever craved _him_.

"So you run off to the other side of the world, completely disregarding your job, your responsibilities… _me_? Instead of yelling at me and getting the fuck over it like an adult?"

The venom in his voice, the anger from him that she'd never had directed at her, and the way his eyes held hers in a cold glare, had her shrinking back and feeling like that little orphan girl of seven again, folding into herself as yet another foster parent broke her down.

"We're over…"

She whispered, her voice trembling. She could feel the tears stinging her eyes but she refused to let them fall, blinking them back as best she could. She could swear she heard him growl then, a dark sound of fury and frustration, before his fingers were suddenly closing around her throat. She gave a startled, choked cry and frantically attempted to pry his fingers loose, panic overwhelming her. She knew he was capable of losing his temper and flying into a fury – she'd witnessed enough of his tussles with paparazzi to know he had a short fuse – but she'd never been on the receiving end. And she never thought she would be.

"We are _not_ over. _You_ do not get to leave _me_ , you ungrateful little bitch. I _made_ you."

He snarled; rage shooting like sparks from his eyes while hers widened in terror. She'd never been frightened of him before, not like this. His anger had always erupted in an apparent need to protect her. It had made her feel _safe_. But she certainly didn't feel safe right now.

"Emma, I still have your- _what the fuck?!"_

Killian suddenly appeared at the other side of the room; his head popping round the door that led out to the courtyard between his room and hers, her phone in his hand. His presence startled Neal, but not enough for him to loosen his grip on her neck. She could still breath, just about, but she was struggling. And she knew she was going to have bruises to show for it.

With Neal's attention shifted away from her momentarily, Emma managed to twist out of his grasp and bolted away from him, fingers cautiously rubbing her neck as she gulped in air. Killian reached for her as Neal strode toward them, fire in his eyes and his focus now entirely on Killian.

In one quick movement, Neal yanked Emma forcibly by the wrist and pulled her to him, twisting her arm behind her back and addressing Killian over her shoulder.

"You in the habit of stealing, _Killian Jones_? Because this piece is not on the market."

Neal snarled and Emma watched as Killian's expression darkened, his good hand clenching into a white-knuckled fist at his side as he visibly tried to rein in his emotions.

"Neal, I assume? I've heard _plenty_ about you," Killian leveled a deceptively calm gaze on the man, despite the murderous thoughts running through his mind, "And _Emma_ is not a _piece_. She is not your property. She's nobody's _property_. So no, _Neal Cassidy_ , I did not steal her. I fell in love with her."

Emma's eyes widened at his admission and it felt as though the bottom had fallen out of her world. But Neal's tightening grip on her arm brought her crashing back to reality mere seconds later and she winced, attempting to relax in order to ease the sharp pain radiating through her shoulder from the angle he was holding her at. Neal barked a scornful laugh.

"You _fell in love_ with her? Oh, how fucking romantic. I don't know how though, she's as broken as they come. She's said it herself; _unlovable_ was the word she used, if I remember rightly. Impossible to love, aren't you, _sweetheart_?"

He shoved her then, in one quick, hard move that had her stumbling forward. Killian's arms instinctively reached out to catch her, so he missed the way Neal raised his fist…but Emma didn't.

She'd glanced back at him in surprise when he'd let her go, and without thinking she pushed Killian out of the way with a sharp cry of his name. Barely a second later, faster than any of them could blink, Neal's fist connected with her face as she stepped in the way of his intended target.

"Shit…Emma…"

Neal's anger seemed to suddenly dissolve and he stared in horror as Emma staggered, her hand covering her cheek, thick silence descending on the room for long moments. The realization of what had just happened washed over them. Neal was stood stock still, frozen to the spot with the gravity of what he'd just done, and Killian rushed over to her side immediately. When she finally tipped her face up to meet Killian's distraught gaze, she saw something inside him snap.

He spun around then, fiery fury surging up inside him with the instant, feral need to defend her. She'd put herself in the line of fire to stop him getting hurt, and he couldn't quite believe she'd done that. The angry red imprints Neal had left around her neck should have been enough to dissuade her from pulling a stunt like that, but she'd reacted on impulse. And now she had a bust lip and an already-purpling bruise under her cheekbone to accompany the fingerprints on her neck.

"You son of a bitch."

Killian growled; propelled forward by his contempt for this man whom he'd never even met before. It was Neal's turn to stagger backward as Killian slammed his fist into his nose, barely even flinching with the sickening crack that filled the room on impact. That should have been enough, but Killian's blood was boiling and he stepped forward, dragging Neal by the collar and tossing him effortlessly against the closest wall. Even with only one good hand to use and cracked ribs to boot, he seemed to be besting him effortlessly.

Attempting to regain his footing and level the playing field, Neal scrambled for purchase, pointedly ignoring the fact that his nose was bleeding profusely. Emma could only watch, numb with shock, as Killian pulled back, ready to punch him again.

"Wait, Killian!"

Emma's shrill cry stopped him dead, fist stilling mid-air, and he looked back at her with confusion. Neal looked equally as confused, and they both waited, frozen, for her to continue. Walking slowly over to stand beside Killian, she met his gaze and covered his hand with her own, delicately lowering it. He searched her eyes for an explanation, but instead of supplying one, she spun round and punched Neal square in the face herself.

Neal slumped down to the floor, unconscious, and Emma winced, shaking her hand and wiggling her fingers. Killian stared at her in open-mouthed shock and she managed a small, awkward smile, shrugging nonchalantly and reaching up to gingerly touch her bust lip.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while."

She admitted and he let out a snort of surprised laughter. He couldn't help but stare in wonder at the woman in front of him. There seemed to be no end to her ability to surprise him. Stepping forward, his good hand tenderly tipped her chin up to him and his fingers delicately grazed over the bruise developing on her cheek. She was probably going to narrowly avoid sporting a black eye but the cut to her lip and the angry bluish-purple swelling under her cheekbone were going to be a little difficult to hide.

As his fingers lingered against her cheek, Emma darted a glance over to Neal and then found Killian's gaze once more.

"I don't care where we go…but can we please get out of here?"

He nodded, pressing a gentle kiss into her hair and wrapping his arms around her. She didn't want to dwell on the fact that, even despite the drama that had just unfolded, she felt instantly safe and protected when she was wrapped in his arms.

"My room? Let's get you cleaned up in there," he mumbled into her hair, "I have a first aid kit."

\-------------------------------------------

After ushering her out into the courtyard and gesturing grandly as he invited her into his room, Killian made for his closet, disappearing inside and calling out for her to make herself comfortable while he fumbled around.

She stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, scanning the room, unsure of the etiquette dictating where she should sit in the given situation. His desk chair was too conspicuous, emphasizing that she was pointedly avoiding his bed. But the lounge chair was currently housing clean laundry, neatly folded, and she knew that moving it to take a seat was even more of an obvious, decisive avoidance of the bed.

So, chastising herself for making such a big deal over what should have been a simple decision, Emma perched on the edge of his bed, making a concerted effort _not_ to overthink it.

He reappeared from the closet a few minutes later, carrying a battered first aid kit. Setting it down on the bed, he opened it and dropped down onto his knees in front of her. With a small frown of concentration on his face, he dug through the box for some antiseptic wipes and it made her smile despite herself.

He was taking care of her and she'd never really known how to be okay with that before she'd met him. Her instinct was to brush it off, tell him she'd be fine and clean herself up in the bathroom, alone. But somehow, letting him take care of her, letting herself be vulnerable with this man who fit so easily into her soul as though he'd been her missing puzzle piece the whole time, didn't feel so scary.

"There's this art philosophy in Japan called _kintsukuroi_ ," he murmured suddenly, pushing her hair back off her face and brushing his fingers against her jaw, eyes never leaving hers, "they repair broken pottery with gold and silver lacquer. They don't try to disguise the cracks…they emphasize the beauty of them. Because those cracks, the broken parts, will always be there and will always be a part of the history of that piece…but they understand that it's more beautiful for having been broken and put back together. It's more beautiful than some people will ever appreciate."

Emma barely registered the fact that he'd already cleaned the cut on her lip by the time he fell silent and offered her a small, soft smile. His words were ricocheting around in her mind, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up and her heart beat a wild staccato in her chest. Unable to do anything but stare, Emma swallowed thickly. No one had ever spoken to her that way before. No one had ever wrapped up their words for her the way he did.

Leaning forward, she touched her nose to his in a gesture she would normally have deemed far too intimate for her to be comfortable with, and paused, before tentatively pressing a feather-light kiss to his lips. He was still on his knees in front of her, his good hand on her thigh, and he cautiously kissed back, very aware of her bust lip and the fact that this kiss was her way of responding to what he'd said. For her, words were a lot more difficult than actions.

She pulled back then, and he couldn't help but let his gaze drop as he watched, somewhat mesmerized, as the tip of her tongue gingerly worried the cut on her lip.

"You should rest, Emma," he said slowly, dragging his eyes upward to find her soft gaze, "I'll be right here. These past few days have been heavy, and the next few are probably going to be even worse, so rest while you can."

She was about to protest when a jaw-cracking yawn silenced her and she rolled her eyes as he chuckled. He was right, and they both knew it. They were going to have a challenging time once the media caught up with them, so she knew it was best to be fully rested. But with Neal passed out in the room opposite, nothing but a courtyard and a locked door between them, Emma didn't exactly feel at ease.

He noticed her eyes flicker over his shoulder toward her room and he stood up, reaching out to tenderly brush his thumb over the dimple in her chin.

"You don't have to worry about him, I promise. I'm not going to let him get anywhere near you."

And she believed him. So, without much reluctance at all, Emma crawled up toward the pillows, sighing as she snuggled down against his soft sheets. Tucking her knees up, she could feel the soothing tendrils of sleep immediately begin to curl their way around her. Her last thoughts before she drifted off were that his pillows smelled like him and perhaps she wouldn't mind falling asleep surrounded by him more often.

\-------------------------------------------

Killian couldn't help but smile as he watched her drift off easily, blonde hair fanned out in a golden halo across his pillow, body relaxing atop his sheets. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't imagined her in his bed before now, but she'd been wearing significantly less clothing in those fantasies. Despite that fact, the image of her, fully clothed, feeling safe enough with him there to fall into an easy sleep, made his heart flutter.

He waited until he was sure she was soundly sleeping before slipping out of his room, across the courtyard, and into Emma's room where Neal was just starting to stir. He was somewhat relieved with his timing, not fancying going for round two with Emma's livid ex-boyfriend the moment he stepped into the room.

Striding over and crouching down next to Neal, Killian watched him carefully as he groaned, consciousness slowly beginning to return. He couldn't help but feel a flare of contempt from the man's mere presence, and he wondered what Emma had ever seen in him.

"What the hell…that bitch-"

Neal mumbled as he squinted, vision hazy and eyes swollen from the broken nose Killian had given him earlier. He had two black eyes and dried blood around his nose which had also stained his white t-shirt. When he tried to struggle to his feet, Killian shook his head and glared down at him, cutting him off before he had chance to finish his tirade.

"Don't you dare call her a bitch, you worthless piece of shit. She should have kicked your ass out of her life a long time ago. You're not going anywhere near her again."

"What are you, her new personal detail?" Neal snarled, but it lacked the venom he'd dished out earlier, "She'll come back to me in the end. She needs me."

"No, she really doesn't-"

"Oh, she needs _you_ , does she? Listen, _mate_ , I know she's great in bed and her little lost girl act really tugs at the heartstrings, but she's not worth it. She may be the hottest girl you've ever had but she's never gonna love you. How could she, when she's incapable of even _spelling_ the word?"

Killian felt the flurry of rage flare up inside him at Neal's words and his derisive snort. Before the man even had a chance to blink, Killian had hauled him to his feet and slammed him against the wall, just as he had done earlier before Emma had intervened.

"She was only incapable of loving _you_. And I'm glad, because she deserves so much more than you."

With that, Killian slammed Neal's head back against the wall and he slumped down, unconscious once again. It took a moment for Killian to compose himself and for his hands to stop shaking with the anger coursing through him.

He couldn't fathom how anyone could treat any woman the way Neal did, let alone a woman as beautiful and special and incredible as Emma. It angered and frustrated him endlessly that she'd had a man in her life who clearly only wanted her around so that he could control her every move. She was just a pawn piece in his record label chess game. A business transaction.

Scowling down at the unconscious asshole, Killian had to fight the urge to administer a few more blows to vent his contempt. Instead, he lifted him up – ignoring the protest from his ribs that screamed with the effort - and made for the hallway, Neal over his shoulder as though he was carrying a sack of potatoes, rather than Emma's unconscious ex-boyfriend.

\-------------------------------------------

"Should I ask? Or should I just pretend I never saw you carrying a body down the hallway?"

Jane stopped dead as she rounded the corner on her way to Killian's room and almost crashed right into her almost-brother-in-law. She eyed the body he was hefting through the hotel before meeting Killian's gaze.

"Jane, meet Neal. He gave Emma a bust lip and, long story short, he's been knocked out a few times because of it."

Jane's eyes widened and she remembered what Emma had told him about her ex at the hospital.

_"_ _He's never physically hurt me. But I wouldn't be all that surprised if he tried to now that the emotional abuse isn't working."_

And apparently she'd been right. Jane couldn't help but feel a swell of pride knowing that Killian had clearly managed to protect Emma, even with one arm in a cast and a set of cracked ribs. She didn't generally condone physical violence, but this Neal guy clearly had it coming.

"Alright. Laundry closet," she said, sighing when Killian's eyes narrowed in confusion, "he's not gonna stay knocked out forever. And we need time to figure out what to do with him, and how to get you and Emma out of here while we do. So, laundry closet."

She gestured down the hallway and Killian nodded, following her lead while she fumbled for her keys.

"What do you mean get us out of here, Jane? Where are we supposed to go?"

"To the coast. Liam can drive you over there, and my family have the boat – I'll call ahead and they can have it ready for you."

Killian stopped as they reached the laundry closet and his frown deepened.

"Whoa, slow down. We can't just…leave. We're trying to keep a low profile-"

"How long do you think it's gonna be before the journalists find out your name and turn up here, Killy? Neal found you pretty damn quickly, and the rest of the world isn't going to be too far behind. You need to be as far from the hotel as you can get til it all dies down. We can handle them, throw them off for a little while, but you two need to keep your heads down…away from here."

As she helped him maneuver the still-unconscious Neal into the laundry closet, Killian mused over her words and the plan she'd so cleverly thought up. Jane had always looked after him, and she knew him even better than Liam did sometimes.

"But what about him? We can't just leave him locked in the laundry closet forever."

Jane smiled as she shut the door firmly and twisted the key til she heard the satisfying clunk of the lock. The door was thick, solid oak and if Neal tried to forcibly break through it when he woke up, he'd be more likely to dislocate his shoulder than to escape.

"You leave him to us; we'll figure something out. Now, go pack a bag for each of you and I'll have Liam bring the car out."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me during my ridiculously long break between updates! I haven't had a working laptop since a few days after I posted Chapter 13 up on FFNet and I've just ended up resorting to an external keyboard to fix the problem, until I can afford a new MacBook!  
> Thank you millions to my little beauties Hannah and Alanna for their input/edits/soundboarding when it came to this chapter. It's been a long time coming, but I hope it's worth the wait! Enjoy :)  
> Oh, and the song lyrics are Demi Lovato's Heart By Heart.

Emma cried in her sleep. Quiet, gentle sobs that made her whole body tremble, almost silent whimpers falling from her lips and a single, stray tear sliding down her cheek. Killian was packing himself a bag when he glanced across at her and he was sure he felt his heart shatter at the sight. His hand itched to reach over and brush away that tear, to smooth away the frown of sorrow etched into her expression even as she slept.

He packed his bag quickly and quietly; conscious that he didn't know whether she was a light or heavy sleeper and determined not to wake her regardless. He knew her suitcase was sitting unopened in her room, and he was glad because going through her things in order to pack for her would _not_ have sat well with him.

Setting his bag by the door, he heard her beginning to stir, the springs of his bed protesting marginally as her slight weight shifted over them. As he watched, she turned toward him, still lost in a restless sleep with a frown on her face and her lips pressed into a thin line. And this time when she whimpered softly, he didn't both trying to hold himself back. Instead, he strode over and, as carefully and gently as he could, settled on the bed next to her. She immediately nestled closer, unconsciously drawn to him, to his warmth, to the comfort that he willingly offered without question.

Tentatively, he held her to him, pulling her against his chest and softly toying with errant strands of her hair with his good hand as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She was trembling ever so slightly in his arms and his heart ached to pull her from her nightmare…but he knew that the one she would wake to probably wasn't much better than the one she was living in her sleep. So, instead, he held her closer, breathing her in and feeling her relax marginally in his arms despite the distressed murmurs slipping from her lips.

Just as he began to feel his own eyelids starting to get heavy, the warmth of Emma's body pressed against his own lulling him into relaxation, she suddenly stiffened and he was instantly wide awake.

"No…no…please, don't…"

Emma's hands pressed against his chest and she struggled against his embrace, eyes darting beneath closed eyelids as broken pleas fell from her lips.

Killian couldn't stand to see her breaking so violently in his arms for a moment longer. So, as gently as he could, he pressed kisses into her hair, dropped them onto her cheeks, peppered them all over her face until her eyelashes fluttered and his pained, storm-blue gaze met the disoriented confusion reflected back at him in sleep-hazed green eyes.

"What's going on…?"

She asked hoarsely, blinking a couple of times in an attempt to clear the foggy remnants of her dream. He smiled down at her, but couldn't help but feel it was more of a grimace.

"You were having a nightmare," Killian offered simply, "And I didn't know whether I was supposed to wake you or not so…I figured I'd just hold you and let you ride it out."

She blushed lightly and ducked her head; clearly embarrassed that he'd witnessed that, and he couldn't help but think pink was a pretty color on her. It was at that moment she seemed to remember everything that had happened prior to her brief nap and she gave a start, head snapping toward the doorway.

"Where's-?"

She began, but Killian cut her off with a vague and soft assurance that he'd dealt with it, and that Emma didn't have to worry about him now. She turned her gaze back to him then, quietly asking him why, what had he done, unsure whether or not she really wanted to know.

"I disposed of him," Killian said darkly, pausing before bursting into laughter as Emma's eyes widened, "I just locked him in the laundry closet, Emma. Jesus, what did you think I did to him?"

Emma gave a short snort of laughter and rolled her eyes, wary relief overcoming her and marginally easing some of the tension in her shoulders. He slipped off the bed then, brushing the creases out of his shirt and canting his head toward the bags he'd left waiting at the door.

"Liam has arranged to take us somewhere the press won't find us," at her frown he continued, "Neal found you here, so they won't be far behind. Jane is going to handle everything from this end and Liam's driving us down to the coast. We have family there and they'll help us."

It was then that Killian noticed the tears in Emma's eyes and his heart sank, fearing he'd done something wrong, overstepped some boundary and upset her. But she shook her head and offered him a watery smile.

"No one has ever gone out of their way to help me like this before. Not because they cared, anyway."

Emma's voice was small and laced thick with emotion, but the tears in her eyes didn't fall and she blinked them back a moment later, composing herself and getting up off of the bed, stepping close to him and leaning forward to press a sweet, gentle kiss to his lips. She didn't miss the way his breath hitched at her sudden proximity and couldn't help but smile as her eyes fell closed and her lips lingered against his, his good hand immediately lifting to cup her cheek.

A short, sharp knock on the door had them jumping apart barely a moment later and Jane's voice followed.

"Liam's ready to go when you guys are."

\----------------------------

"Thank you for doing this. I mean it…"

Emma leaned forward through the space in the seats and squeezed Liam's shoulder. When they'd left the safe confines of Killian's room, Liam had silently helped them load their bags into the trunk of his car. His gaze had only lingered momentarily on her bust lip and bruised cheek, but it was quite clear she'd taken a punch to the face. Jane had informed him of their uninvited guest and why he was currently locked in a laundry closet, so he hadn't needed to ask any further questions in order to get a good picture of the man Emma was running from.

Glancing back at her through the rearview mirror after he'd eased into a lane of traffic filtering off the main road in the direction of a decidedly greener route, he offered her a tight smile.

"We may not have gotten off on the right foot, Ms. Swan, but I believe in good form. And any man who lays a hand on a woman…well, I can't sit back and let that happen. Especially not when my little brother's gotten himself tangled up in it all," Killian shifted in the seat next to Emma then, his good hand squeezing hers as his brother spoke, "And where I'm taking you both, you'll be safe. He won't find you, no one will. At least not for a little while."

Emma's hand clasped firmly in Killian's, his bad arm around her shoulder as he sat beside her in the middle seat; the three then fell back into a surprisingly comfortable silence for the remainder of the journey.

\----------------------------

"Emma…"

Jerking awake, Killian's gentle, lilting voice wrapped so sweetly around her name as he roused her from a sleep she hadn't even been aware she'd fallen into, Emma realized that the car was stationary. Quickly righting herself in her seat, just the slightest bit embarrassed that she'd clearly drooled on Killian's shirt where she'd nuzzled into him unconsciously, she rubbed a hand across her face.

"Where are we?"

She asked, voice breathy and still thick with sleep. She'd slept surprisingly soundly considering she was in the backseat of a four-by-four navigating mostly country roads. She didn't dwell on the little voice at the back of her mind whispering that she'd slept so well because she'd been in Killian's arms. Nope, she refused to dwell on it.

"Jane's family's place, on the South West coast. It's a tiny little town and I guess Liam and Jane think we'll be safe here for a little while."

Emma nodded but remained silent, turning her head to peer out of the window, not wishing to shift out of his embrace but eager to acquaint herself with her surroundings.

They appeared to be in a quiet seaside village. It looked to Emma as though it had been lifted straight out of an Old England picture book and she couldn't help but marvel at the quaint and understated beauty of it all. White-stone houses with thatched roofs lined the road on one side, facing a harbor occupied by about a dozen sailboats of various shapes and sizes. The road curved around and sloped off, disappearing into the lush green of trees as far as the eye could see.

There were only a handful of houses facing the harbor, a road running up behind them and, just like the main road, that too curved off into a green oblivion. She couldn't help but feel comforted by it, somehow. It just seemed so easy to disappear here, surrounded by trees and anonymity and the gentle lull of the water lapping against stone walls.

A few moments later, Emma caught sight of Liam strolling toward the car. He'd appeared from down a side street – Emma wondered just how many were hidden away just beyond sight in these sleepy little towns – and promptly rounded the car to open her door.

"Hannah and Mike's place is just back off the main road. Come on."

Emma darted a glance back at Killian before moving to follow Liam. She had no idea what the plan was, but they clearly had one judging by the look she caught being shared between the brothers. She and Mary Margaret had concocted enough schemes over the years for Emma to recognize that look. But before she had time to let her racing thoughts get away from her, a strikingly pretty woman whom Emma guessed was somewhere in her mid-thirties, with masses of red curls and bambi eyes, appeared and ushered them through a tall garden gate and down an overgrown path, into the warm and welcoming kitchen of her rustic cottage.

It wasn't until she'd firmly closed the door behind them that the redhead Emma presumed to be Hannah turned to her and pulled her into a hug, much to Emma's surprise.

"Oh…erm…hi. I'm Emma. Thanks for-"

"No need to thank me, love," Hannah cut her off, offering a warm smile, "If you're a friend of Killy's, you're a friend of ours. And Liam here told us you're in a tight spot, so Mike and I want to help. My sister, Jane, and Liam here have been together since before water was bottled, so the boys are family to us, and we take care of our own."

Emma felt her heart squeeze and she managed a hesitant smile. This woman, who didn't know a thing about her, had welcomed a stranger into her home with little to no questions asked. She'd jumped in headfirst to help someone just because her family asked that of her. And Emma had never missed Mary Margaret and David more than she did in that moment, because they were the only other two people in the world whom she knew would stop at nothing to help her if she needed it. If she'd only asked for it.

"Now, I've packed you plenty food here for today but you can stop off for supplies down the river if you need to."

Emma zoned back into the conversation to hear Hannah addressing Killian and she frowned in confusion. Packed food? Supplies? The details of the plan that was beginning to unfold were becoming more and more intriguing.

"Sorry, I think I missed something…are we not staying with you?"

Emma tentatively asked, causing Hannah to pause before a soft laugh fell from her lips.

"Oh, my dear, this house is just about big enough for two of us. I wouldn't want to cram you two into our living room indefinitely. We have a boat, and there's more than enough room for the both of you on there and we thought that would be much more comfortable for everyone. Killian is a gifted sailor; I'm not sure whether he's told you about that."

Hannah turned a knowing gaze on Killian then and Emma couldn't help but smile at the affection they so easily shared. She could see the resemblance between Jane and Hannah too, and couldn't help but thank her lucky stars that the family she was seemingly inheriting by getting involved with Killian was so accommodating. She was still trying to work out whether Hannah was oblivious to her celebrity status or whether she was aware and was just genuinely unfazed by it. She was really hoping it was the latter.

"Well, thank you. Seriously, I really appreciate-"

"Emma, stop thanking me," Hannah grinned, shaking her head, "I'm just glad to see Killy with that sparkle back in his eyes. I hope you know you've chosen one of the special ones."

It was Emma's turn to smile when she caught the embarrassed flush coloring Killian's cheeks as he brushed off Hannah's praise.

"I'm well aware."

Emma answered quietly, meeting his gaze and holding it unwaveringly. Her heart fluttered every time he looked at her that way, with the smile that was just for her, and she always felt the world around them slipping away when she allowed herself to get lost in those stolen moments. Hannah cleared her throat then, breaking the moment with a knowing smile and canting her head toward the door.

"Save it for the boat, lovebirds," she chuckled, "I'll take you over there now. It's docked in the harbor."

\----------------------------

After promising to keep in contact and check in regularly (though Emma had a feeling Mike was more concerned about getting his boat back than anything else), Killian had expertly maneuvered the boat out of the harbor and toward open water. Hannah, Mike and Liam had stood on the dock waving them off until they were nothing but little dots lost on a far away shoreline.

The wind picked up a little the further from shore they ventured, and Emma shivered, the cool breeze gently whipping her hair back as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the salty sea air, tasting freedom and relief on her tongue.

"You cold, love?"

Emma gave a start as Killian's voice suddenly broke her out of her reverie. Smiling, she shrugged, now unsure as to whether the shiver on her skin was more to do with his sudden proximity than the sea breeze. But she wasn't about to tell him that.

Without another word, Killian disappeared below deck and returned a few moments later carrying a thick blanket. Emma didn't argue as he shook it out before wrapping it round her, pulling her in closer to him as he bundled her up in the thick fleecy material. She smiled and rolled her eyes, cursing her voice when it came out as nothing more than a breathy whisper when she thanked him.

She was trying to pointedly ignore the way her heart stuttered every time their eyes locked, but now, with him standing so close and with those impossibly blue eyes looking right into her soul, Emma knew she was so totally and helplessly gone for this man. She was falling in love with him, harder and faster than she'd ever thought herself capable of, and as terrifying as it was, she found that she really didn't want to stop it.

He was still smiling, seemingly unable to take his eyes off her and Emma had never felt as treasured as she did when that too-blue gaze was trained on her. She'd had millions of fans screaming their adoration for her in hundreds of sold out shows across the world, but there was still an empty space that they couldn't reach in her. Yet all it took to soothe the cracks in her beat up heart was the wondrous gaze of one man, the gentle touch of his fingertips as he lifted his good hand to graze his thumb across the apple of her cheek.

Leaning into his warmth, Emma sighed contentedly, savoring the feeling of his hand cupping her cheek and spreading warmth from the tips of her fingers right the way down to her toes. His gaze dropped to her lips then and she felt her pulse thrumming anticipation. They'd only kissed twice, and the second was as chaste as they come, but he was still asking her permission, waiting for her to give him a sign before he closed the space between them.

"Emma…"

He whispered, but she was already leaning forward, the spark between them coming to life as he met her halfway. She slipped her arms around his waist, pulling him flush against her and she felt him inhale sharply against her lips, not caring as the blanket fell to the deck soundlessly behind her. She wasn't cold anymore, the heat from his kiss sparking along every nerve in her body and causing her to tremble slightly with a shiver that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold.

Killian's hand moved from her cheek then, tangling in her hair and cradling her head as he angled his lips to effortlessly deepen their kiss. When Emma felt his tongue gently touch her lips, she instinctively granted him entrance and desire bolted through her so suddenly that it stole her breath. They were clinging to one another, completely lost to the world around them and Emma absently wondered how much time they'd lost when they broke apart, breathless and wide-eyed.

"As much as I could kiss you all night, I think we should probably get something to eat."

Killian smiled, dropping one last quick kiss to her lips before stepping back and attempting to ignore how keenly he felt the loss of her as he did so. Her kiss had left him in somewhat of a daze and he definitely wanted a repeat performance under the stars later that evening, but his grumbling stomach had other ideas.

As he retrieved the cooler box of goodies Hannah had put together for them – sandwiches, fresh fruit, pasta, cookies and a bottle of wine – Emma wrapped herself back up in the fleece blanket and watched him with a small smile. She seemed a lot brighter and much less tense now that they had at least a couple of days to just breathe, away from Neal, away from the rest of the world. Just the two of them; no expectations or worries or media scrutiny to deal with.

After they'd devoured most of the food Hannah had sent, chatting easily and simply enjoying one another's company as they did so, they cleared up and Killian excused himself briefly. Still wrapped in the blanket, Emma shuffled over to the sunken seating area in the middle of the deck. Dropping down onto the plush cushions, she let out a soft moan of satisfaction as she realized they were heated.

"I was hoping I'd be the one eliciting such sounds from you, Swan."

Emma startled as Killian reappeared, shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she snorted a laugh in response. Glancing up at him, her gaze immediately fell on the guitar he was holding, an expectant smile on his face.

"I can't play with one hand in a cast, love…but how about you give us a little song?"

Faltering for a moment, Emma chewed on her bottom lip and hugged the blanket tighter around her. She didn't know why on earth she suddenly felt nervous at the prospect of playing for him – he'd heard her on the radio already after all – so she slowly nodded and reached out to take the guitar from him.

As she strummed a few notes to check the tuning of the dusty old acoustic, Killian moved to sit down beside her, leaning his elbow against the back of the seats and watching her with a small smile and soft eyes. She could feel his gaze on her but kept her own trained on the strings. Her fingers delicately strummed a nameless tune as she reacquainted herself with the instrument she hadn't picked up since she was last at home.

" _When your soul finds the soul it was waiting for, when someone walks into your life through an open door; when your hand finds the hand it was meant to hold…don't let go. Someone comes into your world and suddenly your world has changed forever,"_

Emma let the words of her song fall between them, her eyes falling closed as she strummed the guitar with practiced ease. In the first few weeks at the hotel, she'd spent some time songwriting, using the quiet of her surroundings and putting her time to good use. She'd known she was falling for Killian, even just a few days after meeting him, and the words had flown onto the paper seemingly of their own accord.

" _No, there's no one else's eyes that could see into me; no one else's arms can lift, lift me up so high. Your love lifts me out of time, and you know my heart by heart."_

She could feel Killian's intense gaze studying her, and she was somewhat glad of the low light hiding the blush she could feel rising on her cheeks. She was used to singing for people, sure. But the intimacy of the situation, and the fact that they were both well aware this song wasn't just a random pick, sat heavily between them.

Before she could continue, Emma felt Killian shift and her eyes fluttered open when his fingers closed around her wrist. He waited until she stopped strumming and turned her head to meet his gaze, before gently taking the guitar out of her hold and laying it down on the deck, his eyes never leaving hers even for a moment.

Though not a word was spoken between them, she could see the impact her song lyrics had had on him. His face was serious, his eyes full of so many emotions that she felt the air catch in her lungs as she looked back at him. When he finally broke the silence, long moments later, his voice gave away just how wrecked he felt.

"Is that yours? You wrote that?"

He asked, his words barely more than a whisper. She hesitated before nodding slowly. For him to know her words were about him…that was a whole new level of vulnerable for her.

But then he was kissing her. They were desperate, loaded kisses that she couldn't help but drown in, clutching fistfuls of his shirt as she tried to press herself even closer, as though that were possible. She knew full well that this was his answer to her song, his way of showing her what her words had meant to him.

Emma had never found it easy to say what she felt, but somehow spinning her words into music came naturally. She could wrap up everything she needed him to hear in meaningful lyrics and then telling him didn't feel so daunting. Her head was spinning with his near-frantic kisses as she leaned back and pulled him with her. Before she really knew what she was doing, she was tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the deck behind them.

Killian stopped then, pulling back and looking down at her, chest heaving and lips kiss-swollen. His pupils were blown and his hair was mussed up from her fingers carding through it as he tried to compose himself. She was equally as affected, hands trembling as she reached up slowly to cup his cheeks. He followed her lead, allowing her to tug him back down and meet her lips once more.

"Emma, we can stop-"

He mumbled against her lips as he hovered over her, propped up on his good arm, his words totally contradicting the way his body was responding to her. She shook her head without breaking the kiss and simply deepened it in response, feeling the deep rumbling groan in his chest as she fumbled with his belt buckle.

"Emma…please, stop."

Her hands stilled against his buckle and her gaze snapped up to meet his. She didn't understand. Moments ago he'd been kissing her as though she was his last breath, and now he was putting on the brakes? He offered her a somewhat shy smile and moved so that he was lying on his side next to her, not caring that the space was cramped. She tried to steady her racing heart as she turned her head to him, waiting for an explanation. After a moment, he reached up and brushed blonde hair off her face, fingers lingering against her cheek so delicately she couldn't be entirely sure he was even touching her.

"I don't…I don't just want sex on the sofa, not like this," he said quietly, his eyes holding hers, "I want to take my time and kiss every inch of you. I want it to be everything you deserve…I want to make love to you, Emma Swan."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE SMUFF IS HERE! I thank you profusely for hanging in there for fourteen whole chapters with nothing but a few kisses. I hope this 5K word helping of pure smuff is reward enough.   
> So yeah, this is possibly the most descriptive piece of smut I've ever written, ever. And I still managed to 'keep it classy' as my lovely beta, Lanni, so beautifully put it!  
> Once again, thank you to my ladies, Hannah and Lanni, for your enthusiastic support and copious amounts of love. You guys give me life. As do you, my dearest readers. It still blows me away how amazingly responsive you all are and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  
> Anyways, enough ranting. Enjoy the smuff.

Emma's heart stilled in her chest, the silence stretching out between them until Killian shifted uncomfortably. He was about to move away, and she caught the devastation flash in his eyes as he sat up and sighed…and that's when she realized that he was taking her silence as rejection.

Quickly grabbing his arm before he moved away, she waited until he finally turned his gaze to meet hers.

"Killian-"

"Sorry. Too much, right?"

She frowned then, shaking her head and interlacing her fingers with his as she moved to sit beside him. Her pulse was still stuttering from his earlier frantic kisses and her voice trembled slightly.

"No, not too much. I just…I've never had anyone who…I've never met anyone like you before, Killian Jones."

Emma didn't know how to articulate to him that she wasn't sure if she'd ever even made love before. She was good in bed, she knew that much. Neal wasn't one for compliments but he'd told her on numerous occasions that she was…talented. He was always satisfied (even if she wasn't) and she'd always separated sex and emotions. It just made things easier that way. The few guys she'd been with before Neal had been the same; it was all about their satisfaction.

To hear Killian telling her she deserved more, that he wanted to take his time and focus on her pleasure, made a flurry of emotions prickle under her skin. She squeezed his hand and he offered her a weak lopsided grin, unsure how to respond to her words.

It made him ache to see the uncertainty in her eyes and he couldn't help but feel a flare of anger toward the men before him who had clearly not treasured her the way they should have. She didn't know how to respond to tenderness, to sex that was more than just a physical act, and that realization had him frowning…until he felt Emma's fingertips delicately tracing the lines of tension in his face. He blinked and felt his whole face instinctively soften under her gaze.

"Emma-"

He started but she shook her head, pressing two fingers against his lips, effectively silencing him. She didn't want words. Words just complicated things and as much as she adored that lilting British accent of his wrapping around her name, she wanted less talk and more action. She wanted to show him everything she had no idea how to say, so she replaced her fingers with her lips and kissed him deeply.

He responded immediately, but was far more tentative this time, allowing her to lead, allowing her to set the pace. She knew that if she wanted it hard and fast, he'd follow her lead and give her that, now that he'd made it clear to her that he wanted more than just her body. But she found herself slowing it down, kissing him thoroughly and running her hands through his hair, sweeping her tongue against his and swallowing the answering groan that rumbled from his chest.

Pulling back then, breathing hard, she stood up and grabbed the blanket that had previously been around her shoulders. He watched, still a little dazed from her kisses, as she spread it out on the deck before them and muttered something about being grateful for the underfloor heating in that small area of the boat. He couldn't help but chuckle.

But the laughter died in his throat when she turned back to him then and met his gaze. The desire he saw in her eyes stole the very air from his lungs. She was settling herself down atop the blanket, giving him come-to-bed eyes that had him instantly hard and straining against the constricting denim of his jeans.

He knew he shouldn't be surprised that she had such mastery of a seductive glance, because he'd seen a tempered-down version staring at him from the screen of his computer when he'd idly Google'd her name a few weeks after they'd met. He hadn't been searching for anything in particular, but he'd been stuck in London on a business trip Liam had sent him on and he'd been missing her. He couldn't lie; it had been somewhat surreal to see Emma through the eyes of the media.

They obviously focused heavily on her aesthetics – which everyone unanimously agreed were _rather_ pleasing – and it had riled him a little bit. Because there was so much more to Emma Swan than the fact that she looked sizzling hot in a tight red dress and that her legs went on for days. He remembered thinking with frustration that they were missing the light in her. They were missing the fire in her soul. They were fixing photos to hide her perfect flaws – the scars above her left breast that he'd caught a glimpse of once or twice when she'd worn vest tops; the dusting of freckles over her shoulders that they always seemed to get rid of.

But the thing that had _really_ rankled him was the fact that they so often changed her beautiful, mesmerizing, enchanting jade eyes to blue. Her eyes were the most beautiful color he'd ever seen, with their flecks of gold and a color that simply couldn't be described. She was perfect and he couldn't imagine wanting to change a single thing about her.

"You are so beautiful."

He said softly as he finally joined her on the deck, his mind flashing back momentarily to their first almost-kiss on the lawn of the hotel following their 'first date', just before Liam had ruined their moment. Here, there was no one to interrupt and they had all the time in the world (well, a couple of days) to lose themselves in each other. He'd never felt more content.

Emma's eyes broke from his gaze and flickered downwards at his compliment, and she felt the blush coloring her cheeks a little. She wasn't exactly a stranger to compliments like that – the majority of the fans she'd met over the years gushed over her beauty and stammered out various versions of 'you're beautiful' as they greeted her, and she would thank them graciously. But coming from Killian it sounded…different. The way his eyes were so, _so_ soft and she could so easily feel the adoration poured into his words…it tugged at a place in her heart she was unfamiliar with.

Sitting up on her knees, she moved to push him back so that he was reclining and gazing up at her with a smoldering gaze she was sure was setting every nerve ending in her body alight. And he hadn't even touched her properly yet.

She quickly threw her leg over his waist and straddled his hips, reveling in the way he swallowed hard and fought to keep his composure, his abs tightening under her touch when she scraped her fingernails down his bare chest. She could feel heat starting to coil deep in her belly as her eyes wandered hungrily over strong shoulders and lean, hair-dusted muscles.

She remembered back to the night of their date and the thought that had flashed through her head when he'd touched her completely innocently and she'd felt sparks shooting up her arm… _'sex with him is gonna be an out-of-this-world experience'_. And she was still in no doubt that it would be.

Killian's fingers began to toy with the edge of her shirt and she could read the question in his eyes. He was still being so tentative with her and it was such a contrast to the heat with which he'd kissed her just minutes earlier. But it gave her a thrill to know he was capable of both, and that she'd perhaps get to experience both sides of him in one night.

Pulling her top over her head in one swift movement then, Emma felt her breath hitch at the way his eyes darkened and drank in every detail of her, scorching her skin everywhere they roamed.

"Stunning…"

He muttered, skimming the fingers of his good hand across her flat stomach, dragging his thumb over the lines of firm muscle that years of disciplined yoga practice and an hour a day with her personal trainer had given her. She let her eyes fall shut when he splayed his hand across her ribs and lightly, teasingly, skimmed it across the lacy cup of her bra. Even through the fabric she could feel the heat of his palm and she held her breath, electric heat flooding her whole body and causing her to shiver involuntarily.

His fingers continued to explore her soft skin, lingering over the scars above her breasts before sliding around the back of her neck to pull her down flush against his body and capture her lips in a searing kiss. The moan that fell from her lips at the sudden contact sounded indecent even to her own ears but the way his body stiffened momentarily under her at the sound told her she wasn't the only one affected.

It took her a few moments when his hand danced down her back as they kissed to realize that his nimble fingers had unhooked the clasp of her bra (impressive with just one hand, she'd give him kudos where it was due). And then he was gently tugging the straps down her shoulders; tossing the lacy garment off in the same direction she'd thrown his shirt earlier.

The new sensation of her nipples against his chest hair was enough to elicit a gasp from her and she felt him smirk against her lips. In response, she rolled her hips down firmly against him and it was his turn to shudder.

"Gods, Emma…"

He whispered in barely more than a strangled groan. She could feel the evidence of exactly what she was doing to him pressing insistently against her and it sent a surge of heat right to her core. The need to get rid of the remaining barriers between them was becoming overwhelming.

"These. Off. Now."

She commanded, tugging at the buckle of his pants and swiftly unfastening it, fingers dancing along the waistband of his boxers underneath. He quickly complied and she moved off of his lap briefly to stand and allow him to kick off his pants. As she moved to quickly rid herself of her own jeans, Killian's hand quickly gripped her fingers, ceasing her movements. She met his gaze with confusion evident on her face. He looked up at her, a small smile playing on the corner of his lips as he knelt before her.

"Let me."

He said simply, and her stomach flipped. He wanted to undress her, to take his time and reveal her to him slowly. That thought had a blush rising on her cheeks again and flushing prettily over her chest, but she let her arms fall to her side and watched as he popped open the remaining buttons and slowly _, so slowly_ , slid the denim down her legs, pausing to kiss her hipbones and then her thighs as they were exposed to him.

By the time she was standing over him in nothing but black lace panties, her legs were trembling and she was entirely convinced she was going to come undone the very moment he touched her. The anticipation he'd built simply by keeping a slow and deliberate pace was really doing a number on her. She'd never experienced a desperate need for someone this way before.

Taking her hand, he tugged her down so that she joined him back on the blanket, gently commanding her to lie down. As she did so, he shifted his position and she knew then exactly what he had planned…

"You don't have to-"

She started, a wave of panic crashing over her with the realization of his intentions when he nudged her legs apart to settle between them. She knew he'd seen the flash of fear in her eyes and tore her gaze from his. She found that particular action just a little _too_ intimate to have ever been comfortable with it.

"Hey, look at me." He waited until she did, "you don't have to be nervous with me, love; I'm utterly enamored with every part of you. And I'm well aware that I don't have to, but I _want_ to. I want to taste you, Emma. So close your eyes. Let me do this for you. I promise, I'll make you feel good."

He offered her a winning grin that felt totally out of place considering she was lying before him in nothing but her panties, but she hesitantly complied. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a shaky breath and willed herself to relax as he finally rid her of the last scrap of material keeping her from him.

' _You'd swear you were visiting the gynecologist, Emma. Jesus Christ.'_

Her inner voice chastised her and she frowned in a silent rebuke to herself. But every coherent thought immediately fled from her head when she felt Killian's lips pressing tender kisses up her thighs, tingling sparks of sensation flooding her senses and causing her to shudder involuntarily. He kissed and nipped everywhere but where she needed him, until she was breathless and writhing beneath his talented lips.

Finally, _finally_ , after endless moments of sweet torment, just when she was about to beg him to give her what she needed (and Emma Swan did not _beg_ ), she felt his tongue suddenly _there_. His fingers gently pressed against her, not quite inside but almost, causing her to gasp and arch into his touch, a whimper lodging in the back of her throat as pulses of pleasure gripped her whole body. She was burning up from the inside out for him, and he was stoking the fire with the slow, deliberate swirls of his tongue and the way his fingers were barely inside her, drawing out the exquisite torture.

"Gods, you're so wet for me, love."

He muttered, the vibrations of his words against her center making her cry out. And she would have been embarrassed by the long, low moan that fell from her lips if she'd been just slightly more in control of herself. But the way he was working her with his mouth and hand, and the ebb and flow of pleasure and need thrumming through her veins, was enough to chase away the last of her inhibitions. He pushed one finger inside her and then a second quickly joined it, slowly stretching her and making her raise her hips up to meet his hand.

It was hard to believe it was their first time, because he quickly learned exactly what she liked, where to touch her to make her gasp and moan, and exactly when to curve his fingers inside her to get her crying out his name like a prayer. She'd never felt heat like it, scorching and insistent, making her toes curl at the absolute bliss of it all.

She briefly caught herself wondering how the hell she'd never enjoyed this before. But a tiny voice at the back of her head whispered that it was _him_. He made it different. He made her feel things no one had ever made her feel before, and apparently that notion carried over to their more… _intimate activities_ too.

To see Emma spread out before him, a sweet siren, her hair fanned out in a golden halo on the blanket, eyes closed and lips parted in a silent 'o' of pleasure, it was enough to make Killian impossibly hard. The cool sea air ghosted over her deliciously smooth skin and made her glow with a silvery ethereal radiance in the moonlight. He thanked the Gods it was a clear, mild night because he couldn't have dreamed up a more enchanting vision.

"Does this feel good, Emma?"

He smiled, briefly replacing his fingers with his tongue and pressing inside her as deeply as he could. Her answering hum turned into a moan as he did so. He committed every sound she made to memory. He pushed her closer to the edge with his tongue and then quickly thrust his fingers back inside of her in long, measured movements that had her panting and whimpering.

A few moments later, with a very deliberate swipe of his tongue and curve of his fingers inside her, Emma's soft moans and whimpers became more insistent and he felt her walls clamping down on his fingers as she chased her release. With her pleasure reaching fever pitch, vision blurring at the edges and body shuddering as she rocked down onto his hand, she finally shattered around him. Continuing to thrust slowly in and out, he helped her ride the high, thoroughly enjoying the view of her shuddering with aftershocks, one of her hands clutching her breast and the other gripping a handful of the blanket.

Wiping a hand across his mouth as he leaned back onto his knees, he took in the vision of her before him for a long moment, drinking her in, memorizing the sight of her afterglow as her breathing slowly became less labored and she finally opened her eyes to meet his soft gaze.

"That was…incredible."

She whispered, her voice breathy and low, doing nothing to ease the ache in his groin. He flashed her a dimpled smile and her obvious satiety, the way her body was still floating down from ecstasy, caused a swell of satisfaction to shoot straight to his groin.

Emma stared up at him, her whole body humming. She had _never_ experienced an orgasm like the one Killian had just given her. Stars had exploded behind her closed eyes and she felt like she was in freefall, potent pleasure sparking across every nerve in her body and rippling through her, rolling like waves until she realized that the desperate moans she could hear were falling from her own lips. But she didn't even care, more focused on riding out the sensations Killian's mouth and fingers were coaxing from her than keeping herself in check.

" _You're_ incredible, love. And bloody beautiful when you let go for me."

His smile turned into a smirk and then he was on top of her, pressing his lips against hers, and kissed her until she was breathless with desire once more. But as her limbs finally regained feeling after the blissful numbness from the mind-blowing orgasm, she smiled into his kiss and wrapped her legs around his waist. He hummed against her lips as her heels pressed gently against his ass, but it quickly turned into a yelp of surprise as she flipped them effortlessly (and surprisingly gracefully) so that she was straddling his hips and he was on his back, staring up at her in surprise.

"Now it's my turn to blow _your_ mind," she informed him and paused, smirking, "Pun intended."

Killian swallowed hard as he watched, mesmerized, the way she moved to kneel between his legs, leaning forward with her ass in the air as she grasped him in her hand and met his hot gaze. With a smoldering sparkle in her eyes, she leaned forward and kissed the tip, causing him to jerk and bite down on his bottom lip. He'd never seen such an erotic sight.

He was sure thousands upon thousands of men had dreamed of having her in this very position, siren green eyes almost black with desire, her small hand grasping him firmly and beginning to pump up and down in a steady rhythm. But she was more than a glossy pin-up fantasy for him. She was his savior, his salvation, his _everything_.

A guttural groan rumbled in the back of his throat and he couldn't tear his gaze from hers. She was a goddess, and when she took him fully into her mouth, her name tumbled from his lips and his head fell back against the blanket. She was most definitely blowing his mind, and he knew he wasn't going to last very long if she carried on taking him right to the back of her throat and then flicking her tongue against him as she pulled back.

"Emma…" he ground out, sounding just as wrecked as he felt, "Love, it's been a while and if you carry on doing those wicked things with your beautiful mouth, I'm not going to be able to hold out…"

She simply smirked up at him, widening her eyes innocently (which could not have been more of a damning contradiction, he mused) before taking him into her mouth completely again, bobbing her head quickly while keeping her gaze locked on his. With trembling legs and electric sparks of heat rolling over him, it took all of his remaining self-control to stop her.

" _Emma_ , please, darling," she pulled back and frowned in confusion. "It's not that I'm not _thoroughly_ enjoying this particular talent of yours, but our first time…I want to be inside you when I finish. I want to feel you coming apart around me and pushing me into my own release."

Her eyes darkened with arousal at his frank words and she licked her lips. She had to admit that it caused a flare of desire to shoot straight to her core when he spoke that way. Nodding, she moved to straddle him again, trapping the firm ridge of his hardness between them and rubbing herself against him. With his good hand, he danced his fingers up her thigh, settling on her hip as she ground down against him, fingers tightening in a grip that would surely leave bruises. But that only served to encourage her and she dropped her head back as she used him to pleasure herself, putting on a show for him.

The image of her losing herself to the sensations she was creating, and simultaneously eliciting them from him, made him thrust up into her hand.

"Condom…"

She muttered, still drowning in a sea of pleasure, and it was then that Killian recalled Hannah slipping something into his pocket just before he boarded the ship. He'd blushed and glared at her when he pulled the pack of condoms out, and quickly shoved them back into his pocket, choosing not to comment on Hannah's presumptuousness. Now, however, he was thanking the Gods for her forward thinking.

Blindly reaching for his pants, he impatiently fumbled in the pocket and pulled out the packet. She met his gaze with a quirk of her eyebrow and he rolled his eyes.

"Hannah gave me a parting gift. I didn't presume…but she sure did."

He stumbled over his words, but she was smiling as he handed her the packet. She made quick work of ripping one open and rolling it down onto him before quickly sinking down onto him herself. The sudden action had them both reeling, twin cries of pleasure tearing from them as she stilled, adjusting to his size and reveling in the way he filled and stretched her so, so perfectly.

After a moment, she rolled her hips in a deliberate motion and he muttered a string of expletives under his breath. Feeling her walls clamped in a vice-like grip around him, fluttering with every careful motion, he was completely overcome with it all. She kept the pace maddeningly slow, the small smirk playing on her lips telling him she knew _exactly_ what she was doing to him and he thrust upwards impatiently. He desperately wanted her to pick up the pace but at the same time he knew he wouldn't last long if she did.

Reaching up with his good hand, he cupped her breast and brushed his thumb over her nipple, causing her to shudder, before trailing his hand down her stomach, feeling the firm muscles clench beneath his fingers. When he reached down to where they were joined, rubbing the pad of his thumb in circles against her, she gasped and jerked her hips. And by catching her off guard for a brief moment, he was able to take advantage and sit up, arms wrapping round her to hold her close as her legs locked behind his back to keep herself upright.

It was an intimate position and she'd never tried it before. Having him staring straight into her soul while she moved against him, sat in his lap with their limbs all tangled, she would ordinarily have felt overwhelmed. But instead, all she felt was the utter intoxication of having his chest hair brushing against her nipples with every rise and fall; the all-consuming fire of need coiling deep in her belly.

"You're magnificent, Emma. You feel exquisite around me. Gods, do you know how stunning you are?"

Carefully, he moved them so that she was lying on her back, still inside her, and as he began to move once more he pressed kisses to her neck, just under her ear where he knew she was sensitive. Her answering shiver made him bite down gently and she cried out with the jolt of pleasure barreling through her. He thrust into her firmly and hooked his arm under her knee, tugging her leg up and over his shoulder (which seemed like no effort to her and he made a mental note to explore just how flexible she was at a later date). The new angle made him hit the spot inside her that she hadn't even known existed, had only heard rumors of, and she keened at the sharp shock of it.

"Oh _fuck_ ," she moaned, "harder, oh God, Killian, _please_ …harder."

Emma whimpered and he felt himself tighten at her request. He did as she asked and increased his pace, the feeling of her clinging to him and gasping for breath each time he slammed into her bringing him instantly close to his release. He could tell she wasn't far from tipping over the edge either.

"Come for me, Emma. I want to feel you come around me."

He groaned, and it seemed to be the final push she needed to come apart beneath him. She arched and cried out his name, just as she had done earlier, and held on tight to him as she shuddered in his arms. He immediately followed her, the sensation of her walls clamping down on him, milking him for all he was worth, finally breaking him. He rode it out, his vision flashing white as he pulsed inside her and allowed the buzz of satiety to seep into his bones.

As they came down together, her face buried in the crook of his neck, hot breath fanning out harshly against his skin, he was reluctant to move. The warmth and bone-deep bliss he felt while wrapped up in her was like nothing he could describe. All he knew was that he wanted to spend the rest of forever by her side, and that thought didn't even scare him. He kept it to himself though, because he was entirely sure that such declarations of devotion should probably not be offered immediately following their first coupling.

But the three words were burning his tongue and it took remarkable effort for him to bite them back. He'd known for a while now that he loved her, had admitted as much in a flippant way when putting Neal in his place. But to utter them while still inside her, while they were both still hazy from the best sex of their lives, wasn't how he wanted to do it. No, as sure as he was of his feelings for her, he would wait for the right moment to tell her properly.

Emma shifted underneath him then, a sleepy smile on her face as she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair.

"What are you thinking about?"

She asked, curious about his suddenly-pensive expression. He turned his head and placed a soft kiss against her wrist as she moved her hand from his hair to trail along his jaw, and he followed it with an equally soft kiss to her lips.

"After that, my love, I'm not sure my brain will be functioning for a while."

He chuckled, dropping kisses across her collarbone before finally rolling off of her and making quick work of disposing of the condom. They both felt the loss keenly. Emma immediately turned onto her side and scooted back into his embrace, while simultaneously fumbling for the blanket and tugging it up over both of them.

Killian nuzzled her neck, chuckling as she gave a jaw-cracking yawn, his good hand settling on the impossibly soft skin of her hip and tracing light, abstract patterns. When Emma sighed and tucked herself even closer, no space left between them now, he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder before those three pesky words could tumble from his lips.

Emma had never felt so sated or utterly content after sex (and she knew she was kidding herself, because in _nobody's_ book was that just sex). The idea of curling into her lover's arms and indulging in _post-coital cuddling_ would have ordinarily set her off running in the opposite direction. Emma wasn't a cuddler. Not even in the early days with Neal, when everything was passionate and desperate and secret. After they'd finished (not necessarily both of them, but him at least), he had almost always disappeared into the bathroom to shower and she had padded around in his shirt or hurriedly pulled her clothes back on, depending on the day.

With Killian though, it couldn't be more opposite. He'd thoroughly satisfied her. He had taken her pleasure to new heights she hadn't even known were possible, and afterwards he seemed more than a little reluctant to let go of her. With Killian she felt cherished, she felt powerful and respected and _loved_. The word that had once been a source of such fear for her…suddenly didn't feel so terrifying. And that was when it really began to sink in.

She was in love with him.

But it was too soon, and the words lodged in her throat as she realized, with mild alarm, that they had almost, _almost_ , slipped out. Emma Swan did not make post-coital declarations of love. But then again, Emma Swan didn't cuddle. And that was most certainly what she was currently doing.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your continued support with this fic! Your reviews never fail to brighten my day.  
> This is pretty much where the angst begins, but there is a little shot of smuff in here. Also, if I was titling the chapters, I'd call this one 'Everybody Hates Neal'. Okay bye.

Neal had never felt quite as disoriented as he did when he finally came round, locked in a pitch dark closet with fuzzy memories of how exactly he came to be there.

But as he fumbled around for a light switch, eventually bathing the tiny room in harsh fluorescent brightness, he winced and felt the telltale throb of a black eye. Or rather, black _eyes_ , seeing as both of them were quite noticeably swollen. And his nose hurt like a bitch.

Tentatively pressing his fingers to his cheekbones, he hissed and cursed under his breath. His nose was definitely broken, and the bloodstains on his t-shirt supported that theory. Frowning, the mist began to clear a little in his foggy mind, and he remembered Killian launching for him, fiery vengeance in his eyes and a horrified Emma shrieking at him to stop…before she herself landed a pretty impressive right hook to his face.

The next thing he remembered was coming round to see Emma's new little lapdog leaning over him, cold contempt simmering in his icy gaze. He was hazy on the barbs they'd exchanged, but he remembered being hauled to his feet and swiftly knocked unconscious. Again.

Which explained why he hadn't the faintest idea how he'd ended up in a closet. He assumed Killian had tossed him in there once he was out cold, and he felt his temper flare. He was _not_ about to let some tall, dark and handsome stranger (because even Neal had to grudgingly admit that Killian Jones was Hollywood-standard gorgeous) simply waltz into the picture and steal away his prized possession.

Growling as the anger rose like bile in his throat, he slammed his hand against the wall, cursing viciously when pain shot down his arm. Fumbling for his cell phone, he quickly typed out a text to his father. His lips curled into a dark smirk as he read over it before quickly pressing send. His father would, of course, demand an explanation for how exactly he'd 'lost control of the Swan girl' but he promised to explain just as soon as he returned home. If all went to plan, she'd be on her way back to the States in a matter of days.

He knew her well enough to know exactly how to send her instinct to run into overdrive. And the little bitch would _not_ best him again. All he had to do was manipulate the situation, which he was highly capable of doing, and he was confident that he could cause an irreparable rift between Emma and her lovesick little puppy.

If Emma Swan wanted to play this game, he would give just as good as he got.

\----------------------------

"Oh, you're awake."

Neal had waited patiently for what felt like hours, when he heard the twist of the lock and glanced up to see the door opening and a pretty woman with dark hair staring back at him. She had an air of calm about her, and warmth that even her current icy glare couldn't mask. Her hazel eyes burned into him with a contempt she wasn't even _trying_ to cover up.

"Who the hell are you?"

He scowled, moving to stand from where he was currently sat on a stepping stool. The woman pulled the door open further and folded her arms, canting her head down the hallway.

"None of your concern. There's a taxi outside and it's going to take you to the nearest airport. I trust you can find your way back to where you came from."

Her words were carefully measured and sharp around the edges. Instinctively, Neal knew she meant business, but a flash of annoyance had him gritting his teeth. He reminded himself that his plan had been set into action and by the next day, he would be having the last laugh. So this woman could death glare him all she liked, he wasn't going to waste his time or anger on her.

"Thank you for your _hospitality_."

He spat sarcastically as he stepped out of the linen closet and she offered him an equally sarcastic smile, gesturing down the hallway.

"See yourself out."

\----------------------------

Killian awoke slowly the next morning, the scent of vanilla and coconut – a scent he'd long since come to associate with Emma – wrapped around him as he breathed a sigh of contentment. His muscles ached pleasantly in a way they hadn't done for years and he was about to stretch out to see just how much his body would protest when he heard Emma murmur in her sleep beside him.

Cracking his eyes open and crinkling his nose as he attempted to adjust to the brightness of the early morning sky, his gaze quickly fell on Emma and his heart soared. She was lying on her back, her hair splayed out on the pillow like some kind of wispy golden halo and her lashes fluttered dark against her cheeks. The blanket they'd wrapped themselves up in the night before rested dangerously low on her chest, giving him the slightest teasing glimpse of the curve of her breasts. But his eyes were trained on her face, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched her sigh deeply and unconsciously shift toward him, seeking his warmth. She was a vision and he knew he was a lost cause when it came to her.

He allowed himself to simply watch her sleep for a few more minutes before leaning forward and kissing her shoulder tenderly, a lingering press of his lips against her sleep-warmed skin that immediately had his whole body tingling with _want_. She didn't rouse, but instead shuffled closer, curling against him and sighing once more against his chest. He dropped kisses into her hair and savored the feeling of having her in his arms, all warm, soft, porcelain skin and gentle curves that fit so perfectly against the hard planes of his body that he was convinced they must have been made for one another.

"Good morning."

She finally mumbled against his chest, the hair tickling her nose, her voice laced with sleep. He squeezed her a little tighter and smiled into her hair, breathing her in.

"Good morning, beautiful."

He replied softly, nuzzling the sensitive spot below her ear that he'd discovered the night before. He felt her shiver in response and his body was immediately on fire, heat rushing downwards and only serving to add fuel to his rather impressive morning arousal. Emma shifted once more, but suddenly her eyes opened and she pulled back to find his gaze. The sly, sleepy smirk on her lips told him she'd noticed just how _awake_ one area of his anatomy was.

"Well, that's one way to wake me up."

She quipped with an arch of her eyebrow. He was about to respond but the words died on his lips as he felt her small hand wrapping around him, beginning a torturously slow pace up and down, causing him to buck up into her hand and groan against her neck. Nipping gently against the juncture of her shoulder and neck, remembering that such an action had left her keening and whimpering his name the night before, he felt her hand tighten around him momentarily.

"That's cheating."

She muttered and he couldn't help but find the hoarse, sultry tone of her voice in the morning unbelievably sexy. Her hair was mussed, her eyes even greener than usual in the early morning light, and he couldn't help but wish he could hold onto this moment for rest of his life. Going back to the real world and knowing that what lay ahead of them likely wasn't going to be particularly pleasant to deal with wasn't something he wanted to think about. Especially not when Emma was now straddling him, her bare skin glowing with desire as she ran her hands up and down his chest, nails scratching slightly.

"Gods, Emma, do you know what you do to me?"

He groaned, fingers of his good hand gripping her thigh when she rolled her hips against him. It was a rhetorical question, because the evidence of exactly what she did to him was pressing insistently between her legs. But she answered anyway.

"Oh, I think I've got a pretty good idea."

She purred, grinding down against him and then pointedly holding his gaze as she let one of her hands skim across her stomach and down, touching herself and putting on quite the show for him. Killian swallowed hard and watched her with fire in his eyes and desire sparking along every nerve ending in his body. It took every ounce of self-control for him not to flip her onto her back and take her hard and fast. The night before they'd made love a few times before they'd finally drifted off to sleep, utterly sated and exhausted, in each other's arms. Yet by the morning, his hunger for her made him feel like a starving man, desperate to devour her all over again.

"Killian?"

She said his name in a breathy voice that _almost_ crumbled the last threads of his control. He reluctantly lifted his eyes and met her heated gaze.

"Yes, love?"

"Get a condom."

\---------------------------

Neal had checked himself into a hotel next to the airport after departing from the hotel in a taxi his mystery brunette captor had acquired for him. He had no intention of catching a flight home until he knew for sure his plan was in motion. His father had admitted to being somewhat impressed by his callous manipulation of the situation when he'd called to check on progress at that end, and he'd preened at the rare backhanded compliment.

Now, he was biding his time and awaiting the fireworks. _No one_ walked out on him, especially not someone as important to the record label as Emma Swan. And it wasn't just that she was their most valuable asset, but the fact that she'd actually had the audacity to break-up with him on the phone, five thousand miles away, made liquid fire spark in his veins. No one left him like that. In fact, before Emma, no one had ever actually broken up with him. And he was damned if Emma Swan would be the first.

He didn't care about her _feelings_ or _happiness_ or any of the fluffy little notions she had about their relationship. What they had was convenient and made sense, at least to him. They (or rather, _he_ ) could control what the media put out there about her personal life and nothing too salacious was ever going to taint her wholesome image, unless they manufactured it.

He'd thought she was smart enough to realize that was how their relationship worked. Maybe at first it had been a bit of a rush, sneaking around, but it was always meant to become public knowledge. That was the unspoken arrangement, and he'd been under the impression his father had spelled that out to her when she'd first been signed. But apparently not. And he didn't much care, if he was being honest.

The agreement he had with his father had always worked out with the other pretty young things they'd signed. First and foremost he was their manager. His job was to make them feel safe and protected, and to control pretty much everything in their professional lives. That then gradually and ( _seemingly_ ) naturally began to spill over into their personal lives and it was fed to the media that they were officially an item.

Cue the obligatory public appearances. Cue the staged romantic vacations. Cue the façade of a loving couple. That is, of course, until the 'next big thing' was signed and the break-up was manufactured delicately and subtly. In fact, their little routine had become so finely tuned that the media was apparently blind to just how fake it all was. Apparently, Emma Swan was also blind to it.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes as he remembered their first kiss, tentative and slow on the sofa in the living room of her Hollywood Hills condo. Her green eyes had been so wide when she'd pulled back to look at him. Secretly, he'd known then, deep down, that she was unaware of just how false his supposed feelings for her were. And he had _tried_ to care that she was only setting herself up to have her heart broken, but he'd given up on that relatively quickly.

He'd told himself that the world she was taking baby steps into was cold and cruel and she would simply have to get used to it.

Suddenly, Neal's cell phone buzzed violently atop the wooden bedside table, snapping him out of his reverie, and he snatched it up,

' _Turn on TMZ. Or any news channel, probably.'_

The text message from his father caused him to smirk and he grabbed the TV remote, flicking to the first news channel he could find. He only had to wait a matter of minutes before the 'main story' looped back round in the headlines. A picture of Emma filled up the screen, followed by a picture of Emma and Killian emerging from the hospital the day before, with Emma looking suitably fearful (he rolled his eyes – she was _still_ useless when it came to handling the paps) and Killian looking stony-faced as he gripped her hand.

Neal's grin widened. The picture they painted was a perfect accompaniment to his nasty little scheme, and even he couldn't have planned on that one. For once, he was somewhat glad of Emma's aversion to the media attention.

' _Popstar Emma Swan has allegedly been assaulted by the mystery man in this photograph and has been reported as missing by her manager and boyfriend, Neal Cassidy. There is reason to believe the man in the photograph may have information on Ms. Swan's whereabouts and the police wish to speak to him in regards to her disappearance. If you have any information, please contact our Crime Line or your local police.'_

\------------------------

After a leisurely few hours of thoroughly satisfying one another, Emma finally collapsed onto Killian's chest; both of them breathing hard as they drifted back down to earth slowly. She rested her cheek over his heart, feeling the erratic stutter of it gradually begin to even out as he caught his breath. She couldn't help but smile and turned her head to find a tender gaze trained on her, words ready to fall from her lips that she really hadn't anticipated or thought through.

"Killian, I…"

Emma clamped her mouth shut as she pushed herself to sit up, still straddling him as her cheeks flushed. Killian caught the fleeting flash of shock and panic in her eyes, but it was gone so fast that he could _almost_ convince himself he'd imagined it.

"What is it, love?"

He asked tentatively, fingers of his good hand skimming up her thigh and resting gently on her hip. She shook her head, and he could practically see the shutters coming down.

Whatever she'd been about to say had spooked her, that much he could see. His mind raced. He knew _he'd_ been on the verge of saying those three little words to her on a few occasions already, and had confessed that he'd fallen for her out loud. But that was a little different to saying, _'I love you, Emma Swan'_ and he'd known she wasn't anywhere near ready for that kind of declaration. Even if they both knew how he felt.

And now, seeing her quickly building those walls of hers back up around her heart, the fear at her almost-confession shouldering it's way to the very deepest, darkest parts of her insecurities…it left him feeling helpless, unsure of what to say to assure her. She was gracefully disentangling herself from him then, her eyes avoiding his as she lay beside him and tugged the blanket up to her chin.

When she finally spoke, her words were measured carefully and his heart dropped a little.

"I…think we should head back today. We need to smooth things out, and we don't know what kind of frenzy the media has whipped all this up into yet. It's only going to get worse the longer we hide here."

She was protecting herself, he knew. That certainly wasn't what she'd been about to say, and they both knew it. She was unsure about their future together so she simply couldn't risk giving him those words. They meant too much (they meant _everything_ ) and Emma wasn't one to make declarations of love like that, no matter how safe he made her feel.

"Swan, we don't-"

" _Please_ , Killian. We need to go back."

There was an edge to her voice now and he felt his heart sink. Attempting to ignore the knot that had suddenly formed in his stomach, he brushed his lips against her forehead and grazed his fingers over the bruise on her cheek, offering her a tight smile.

"As you wish, love."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I finally completed this fic, and I've already posted all chapters to FF.net. I've been neglecting updating on here but now that it's complete, I'm gonna get all chapters posted. Apologies for the delay! Thank you so much for all the support and feedback I've gotten throughout this fic! It was my first ever CS AU and the longest multichapter I've ever completed, so it holds a special place in my heart!

 

"I have five missed calls and two voicemails…and that's just from this morning."

Killian frowned as he docked the boat with practiced ease and glanced down at his cell phone, which had started to vibrate angrily the second his cell signal reappeared. Emma was sat a few feet away, watching him carefully, heart sinking at his words. If someone was frantically trying to get in touch with him, that was surely not a good omen of what they were returning to.

Quickly bringing up his voicemail inbox, Killian frowned and lifted the phone to his ear. Emma kept her eyes glued to his face, unable to hear what was being said, but quite clearly able to read the flash of panic in his face and feeling her stomach clench painfully.

"What is it?"

She asked quietly when he remained silent and stuffed the cell phone back into his jacket pocket. The color had drained from his face and she could see his hand was trembling slightly.

"Killian,  _what is it_?"

She repeated impatiently, pushing herself up from the leather-padded bench and making her way toward him. He slowly met her concerned gaze and scratched behind his ear nervously.

"Liam said the police are looking for me…they think I hurt you. They think I did this to you."

He lifted his good hand then, fingers delicately ghosting over the bruise Neal had left beneath her cheek. Her eyes were wide and she knew she was gaping at him but she had no idea how to process it all.

"But that doesn't make sense! No one has seen me…they don't know…oh my God…"

Realization suddenly washed over her and it was Killian's turn to wait for an explanation. She stepped back, fingers pressed to her lips as though she was about to throw up, and began to pace the deck. Her heart was racing and she could feel the knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach and growing bigger by the second. It couldn't be. He wouldn't have…

"Love, I don't-"

"It's Neal. He's done this; he's fed it to the media. That's the only way…oh God, oh  _God_ , I am so fucking  _stupid_. I should have known he-"

Killian stepped forward and grabbed her shoulder, halting her pacing and forcing her to face him as tears welled up in her eyes. Everything was spinning so far out of control and she was so angry, with Neal, with herself, with the goddamn  _world_  for constantly getting involved in her personal life. But more than that, she was angry with herself for dragging Killian into her mess of a life, and pulling him down into a world where he was certainly going to drown. He didn't deserve what the media would surely do to him now.

"Emma, stop. There's no way you could have known what he'd do. And it's fine, all we have to do is go to the police, together, and we tell them what happened. It's gonna be fine."

She didn't look convinced. But he knew he didn't  _sound_ particularly convincing either. She didn't argue. Instead, she folded herself into his arms, pressing as tightly as she could against the firm, warm safety of his chest and burying her face into his neck as she fought back tears.

"It's gonna be alright, love. We'll be alright."

* * *

_CS_

* * *

When they arrived back at Hannah and Mike's cottage, Liam was already there waiting for them and the expression he wore did nothing to settle Emma's nerves. She was buzzing with equal parts anger and fear, bone-deep contempt for her ex-boyfriend battling for dominance with the fear of what she and Killian would face, both from the police and the media.

"The police came by the hotel looking for you this morning, a little while after you called me and said you were heading back here."

Liam informed them tiredly, running a hand across his face and sighing deeply. They all knew the truth about what had transpired with Neal, but it was going to be one hell of a battle to convince the world of it.

Neal and Emma had always appeared, at least in front of the camera, as the perfect, happy couple. Even the so-called 'body language experts' swooned over them in magazine columns, spouting off about how 'truly in love' and 'besotted' they were with one another. Emma had always balked and rolled her eyes if she came across those articles, never having been one for soppy romantic notions like true love.

And not only that, but she had always been aware, deep down, that Neal was  _not_  madly in love with her. She'd tried to convince herself that he  _loved_  her, even if he wasn't  _in love_  with her, sure; that he was getting something more from their relationship than control of her personal life and great sex. And she'd almost started to believe it, settling for  _comfortable_  over passionate, enjoying the fact that there was rarely, if ever, anything particularly salacious printed about her love life.

She remembered back to the one time there had been pictures printed that bordered on risqué. And looking at it in a whole new light now, she had a feeling that entire scenario had been manufactured too. She and Neal had been to the opening of one of LA's hottest new clubs on Sunset (and if she'd had to hear another person colloquially refer to it as  _Bootsy's_  one more time, she'd gag).

They'd stayed for as long as necessary, with Emma subtly checking the time on her phone every ten minutes, eager to get out of the crowded, sticky atmosphere of the club and chastising herself for being so old before her time. As they'd headed out, they'd ducked away from a gaggle of overly eager paps hanging around by the doors, her hand tightly clasped in Neal's as she'd let him lead. As always.

Neal had then  _seemingly subtly_  pulled her into the side alley between a horrifically named personal training gym and the parking garage beside the club. At her yelp of confusion, he'd simply grinned and pushed her against the wall, her tight black dress riding up her thighs as she stared at him in surprise. It wasn't the kind of thing he'd ever done before, but she hadn't been able to deny the thrill that ran up her spine knowing that they could get caught at any second.

But he'd apparently been counting on that.

As he'd kissed her senseless, one hand gripping her hip and the other hitching her leg around him slightly, she'd been momentarily oblivious to the sudden, harsh flashes of a hundred cameras aimed at them. When he pulled back, a smirk on his face, she'd turned dazedly toward the camera flashes, her hand instinctively coming up to shield her eyes from the glare.

The next morning, they'd been all over the magazines, of course. But it had only worked to strengthen the media's belief that they were smitten and 'couldn't keep their hands off of one another'. Even back then, Emma had gritted her teeth, slightly irritated that Neal had  _recklessly_ risked tainting the good-girl image he'd constantly reminded her she had to uphold.

Now, looking back on that  _incident_ , she was fully convinced it had been planned. Possibly even concocted by Neal and his damn  _father_ ; as utterly revolting as she found that idea.

Bringing herself out of her reverie, Emma shook her head, attempting to clear the memories that she was starting to see in an entirely different light now that Neal's true colors were beginning to shine through.

"This is all my fault, I should never have dragged you into my shit show of a life."

Emma said quietly to Killian and his head snapped up, brow furrowing as he leveled a careful gaze on her. Every time those eyes were trained so intensely on her, she couldn't help but feel like he was looking right into her damn soul. He grabbed her wrist then, gently but firmly, and guided her into the tiny hallway away from the others.

"Emma, I want you to listen to me," his jaw clenched and he took a steadying breath, "The fact that your ex is a lying, manipulative scumbag is not your fault. My coming into your life at a less than ideal time for you is not your fault. And all of this that we're dealing with?  _None_  of it is your fault. So stop blaming yourself and start figuring out how we deal with it."

His voice was soft but she could hear the quiet determination lacing every word and she couldn't help but feel, at least for a brief moment, that everything really would be okay if he was there with her. She'd always relied on Neal (much too heavily, it seemed) when it came to dealing with the media, and the idea of going up against him in an arena he was more than capable of manipulating…it was daunting, to say the least.

"He's good at this, Killian," she said wearily, "Dealing with the media and manipulating them into seeing what he wants them to see…that's what he  _does_. The only ones who are gonna get hurt at the end of this are you and me."

She stepped back then, a hollow ache in her chest as her hand slipped from his grasp. In her mind, distancing herself from him was the only way she could protect him from the harsh realities that came with a life in the spotlight. His brow furrowed and he shook his head.

"No, Emma, please don't pull away. Don't let him get into your head-"

"He's already in my head!"

She snapped, the spark of angry frustration fizzling out the second the words left her lips. She ran a hand through her hair and closed her eyes for a moment, trying desperately to center herself as she felt everything slowly beginning to crumble round her. Killian remained quiet, watching her carefully.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, shifting her gaze up to meet his once more, "I didn't mean to snap at you. I just…when I ran from LA and everything I left back there, I stupidly let myself believe this bubble we've gotten all cozy in could last forever. But it can't, Killian."

She could feel her heart clenching painfully, even as she forced the words past her lips. She couldn't meet his eyes now, and instead turned away, pacing the small hallway.

"The only way they'll leave you alone, the only way your life won't be torn to fucking shreds by those vultures…is if I'm nowhere near you."

"Don't do this, Emma. Don't let him win like this. Don't give up on us so easily."

There was an edge of desperation to his voice, as if he could see her walls slowly being built back up, brick by brick, before his eyes and unable to do anything to stop it. He reached for her but she wrapped her arms around herself. Self-preservation at its finest.

"I can't hide here forever, and my visa runs out soon anyway."

Her voice cracked and she gritted her teeth against the onslaught of emotions bubbling up and clogging her throat. She knew it was a weak argument. If she wanted to, she could quite easily extend her visa and be back by his side within the week. But it would take longer than that for the media frenzy to die down. And there was also that tiny niggle of fear, creeping on the edge of her consciousness, whispering accusations in the form of a certain four-letter word into her ear. So her solution was the same as it always had been. She would run.

* * *

_CS_

* * *

"Is there anything I can say to change your mind?"

Killian was driving Emma to the police station. He'd jokingly called it 'handing himself in' but the stormy expression on Emma's face had quickly put an end to his attempt at lightening the mood. Instead they'd driven in silence for most of the way and it was only when they'd pulled into the police station parking lot that Killian had grabbed her hand, stopping her before she got out of the car.

Her eyes darted down to where his hand rested atop her own and he caught the way her shoulders stiffened. It was hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours earlier, they'd been blissfully wrapped in each other's arms and wonderfully ignorant to the level of chaos they'd be returning to.

She shook her head, green eyes glistening with tears when she finally lifted them to meet his. He longed to scoop her into his embrace and somehow magically get rid of the harsh realities of their seemingly doomed romance. But he settled for the small comfort he felt when she turned her hand under his and laced their fingers together. They sat there for long moments, before Emma finally slipped her hand from his grasp and turned to get out of the car.

After that, everything seemed to go by in somewhat of a blur. When they entered the building, they were taken through immediately and Killian was none-too-gently escorted to an interview room. He could hear Emma's indignant protests, but they hid behind 'protocol' and questioned him as though he would really have been capable of hurting Emma in any way.

A few hours later, Killian's head pounding as he wearily awaited another round of interrogation, the door to his interview room opened and a stern yet strikingly attractive woman with a tight smile and an even tighter skirt walked in. She didn't bother sitting down, and instead gestured to the door.

"Mr. Jones. You're free to go."

Killian frowned, eyeing the woman warily with obvious confusion written all over his face. He could tell the woman was fighting the urge to roll her eyes, but nevertheless she elaborated.

"Regina Mills. I was formerly Ms. Swan's attorney. And apparently it's your lucky day because now I'm yours. They have nothing to hold you on, so let's go."

She gestured toward the door again and he didn't need any more of an explanation to follow her out. When they reached the hallway, Emma was sat waiting, anxiously chewing on her lower lip. Her entire body sagged with relief when she caught sight of him and she rushed over, eyeing him up and down as though she half expected him to emerge battered and bruised. The thought made a small smile tug at his lips.

"It's Neal's word against yours and Emma's at this point, and they have  _nothing_." Regina said, sounding almost bored, "If Emma says you didn't touch her, they can't do a thing."

Killian turned to thank the somewhat-intimidating raven-haired whirlwind but she waved him away and stalked off as her cellphone began to ring. Emma stepped closer to him and didn't resist this time when he reached out and pulled her into his arms. She sighed and rested her head on his chest.

"Thank you for rescuing me, love."

He smiled into her hair.

"They call her the Evil Queen," he felt her chuckle against his chest, "She used to be the attorney I kept on retainer just in case, but she got married to a British guy and relocated to London last year. I wouldn't say we were friends, but we have…a mutual respect for each other, I guess. So when they dragged you off the way they did, I called Regina and she came up here straight away."

Not caring that they were stood in the middle of a police station lobby with officers behind the desk openly staring at them, he squeezed her tight and pressed a kiss on top of her head, mumbling his thanks into her hair. She pulled back then and offered him a weak smile that made his heart sink slightly. She looked…resigned.

"I'm the reason you were in this mess. The least I could do is get you out of it."

He frowned and shook his head but she silenced his protest and nodded toward the parking lot as she disentangled herself from him fully.

"We should go. I booked a flight back to LA for tomorrow. So I have some packing to do."

* * *

 


	18. Chapter 18

"Is there nothing I can do to convince you to stay?"

A heavy feeling of dread had settled in Killian's stomach, gnawing at him more and more during their somber journey back to the hotel. And he'd let her have her space when they'd arrived, kept his distance as she quietly excused herself to her room. But pacing his own room hadn't helped, and he knew he'd never forgive himself if he watched her walk away and hadn't done anything to at least try to convince her that it wasn't the only choice they had.

So he was stood in the doorway of her room, after she'd opened the door to him somewhat reluctantly and returned to her packing. She really didn't have much to pack considering she'd taken a lot of it with her on their brief sailing escape. But she was avoiding the discussion she'd no doubt been anticipating, by folding and refolding clothes and keeping her gaze away from his.

She'd played over a thousand different scenarios in her head during the tense, silent drive back. Liam hadn't spoken a word either, as Killian and Emma sat in the backseat, gazes carefully trained out of the windows. It was tearing her to pieces knowing how much she was hurting him by walking away. But couldn't he see? If she didn't burn this to the ground now, it would only hurt them  _both_  more in the long run. He'd be harassed by the media until he resented her for dragging him into the insane chaos that was her life, and she'd fall in love with him (she pointedly ignored the voice whispering in her head that she had certainly, most definitely already fallen) only to have her heart crushed when he no doubt threw in the towel.

But she had no idea how to articulate to him just how challenging a life in the spotlight could be. To anyone who didn't live it every day, her life was a glossy, glittery dream come true. Except that it wasn't. And perhaps now he had more of a grasp on the power of public perception and the frenzy the media could whip up within days (he'd almost been arrested for assault, for Christ's sake), but he had no idea what it was like living with it every single day. And she didn't know how to try and explain it to him without sounding like an ungrateful, spoiled brat.

After leaving the police station, he'd pleaded with her to listen to him, told her he would always be there no matter what the media said. He promised that nothing and nobody, not even a psycho ex-boyfriend, could scare him off and that he would do whatever it took to convince her he was in it for the long haul. But her walls were back firmly around her heart and she'd quietly told him it wasn't up for negotiation, steely resolve clear in her tone.

Now here he stood, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, looking as distractingly handsome as always, and Emma was doing her best not to look at him. Because she was scared that if she did, if she looked up and saw the pain she was causing him reflected in his baby blues, she'd simply give up the fight and fall into his arms once more. And she couldn't do that, couldn't allow herself a moment of weakness when it would only haunt her in the painful days that would follow.

"I told you," she said quietly, her voice cracking, "It's not up for negotiation. My flight's booked for 11:30am tomorrow."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him walk over to the comfy chair at the end of her bed and drop down heavily onto it. She continued to press her clothes down into the suitcase, keeping her hands busy in an attempt to distract herself.

"Emma…why are you doing this?"

She looked up at him sharply then, catching herself off guard. She thought he understood why she had to do it. She thought he realized that she was  _trying_  to save them both a lot of heartache.

"Because there isn't any other option."

She finally said, the resignation in her voice obvious even to her own ears. He shook his head.

"Yes, there is. You stay and-"

"And  _what_ , Killian?" her voice was shrill with frustration, "I just stay here locked away in a little bubble forever? Is that your master plan? I simply forget about the fact that I have a family and a job and responsibilities back in LA? I ignore the  _law_  and pretend visa expirations aren't a thing?  _How_  do you think any of that could work?"

He was standing up now, facing her with defiance and determination flashing in his eyes.

"We'd  _make_  it work, Emma. We'd make it work because we lo-"

"No," she took a step back, feeling panic rising in her throat, "Do not say it. Do  _not_  say it, Killian."

His jaw clenched but his gaze never faltered, challenging her as palpable silence settled around them. Finally, he spoke.

"Tell me you don't feel it then. Say I'm imagining  _this,_ " he gestured between them, "and I'll back off. I won't stand in your way if you want to go back home and put me in your past…but I need to hear you say it first."

Her whole world felt like it was closing in and she swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. She opened her mouth as unshed tears stung her eyes, but no sound came out. She knew he wouldn't just let her walk away without trying to get her to accept it wasn't what either of them really wanted, but she wished he could see that she didn't have a choice. He might think she did, but she wasn't willing to watch him slowly destroyed because of her.

Watching her carefully, he stepped closer, taking her inability to speak as her answer. She folded her arms and turned away from him, steeling herself and unable to watch his face as she did it. Swallowing again, she tried to detach herself from the cold words she allowed to fall from her lips.

"I don't love you."

* * *

_CS_

* * *

Shutting the door behind him, a hollow ache spreading through him with every step he took away from her room, Killian tried not to let her words echo in his head. But he couldn't stop them.

' _I don't love you.'_

He knew she was lying. She'd had to turn away from him to force the words past her lips and he was pretty sure she knew he could see through her lie. But she'd clearly made her decision and pushing him away, wounding them both with words, was apparently the only way she could go through with it. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

He wanted to punch something (but God forbid he did damage to his one working hand). He wanted to rage and yell at her for the stupid, stupid decision she was making. He wanted to make her see that by backing down and throwing away what she'd found with him, she was letting Neal win. But he really didn't think it would do any good now. Emma Swan was as stubborn as she was beautiful, and as much as it was one of the many things about her that he'd fallen in love with, it could also be frustrating as hell.

He left her alone for the rest of the evening, knowing that crowding her would only result in an argument and the last thing he wanted was for them to part on a bad note. He kept trying to replay their good memories in his head as he dropped down onto his bed, heaving a sigh and flopping back against the pillows. He closed his eyes and thought of the first time he'd seen her – wearing sunglasses in the evening (which made sense in hindsight but in the moment had seemed somewhat strange) and making him  _feel_  for the first time in a long time.

He remembered how easily they'd talked, as though they'd known each other for years, on the drive back to the hotel; he remembered the groan of pleasure she'd made as she'd devoured a Big Mac in the passenger seat, and the way it had made his blood rush south instantly and his grip tighten on the steering wheel. He remembered the first time he'd heard her laugh, and the way his heart had fluttered at the sound, a grin breaking out on his own face in response. And of course he remembered the wondrous way she'd looked at him when he'd all but told her that her status meant nothing to him. His breath had caught in his lungs as she'd brushed a kiss against his cheek, his blood near boiling point with her proximity and the subtle notes of her perfume that he'd quickly become addicted to.

Killian smiled sadly as he recalled nervously attempting to pluck up the courage to ask her out. Not that he'd been able to take her on a real date, but he'd meticulously planned an evening he'd been sure she'd appreciate. And she had. That had been the night he'd almost kissed her for the first time. Before his bloody brother had ruined the moment. She'd made a hasty retreat and he'd fought with his brother. He'd fallen asleep that night dreaming of the taste of her lips and the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. He hadn't known then just how much the reality of her would surpass every dream he could have possibly had.

That quickly led to the memories of their first kiss, following a testing few days of high emotions. The rush of heat that had swallowed him whole with her lips finally meeting his was something he was sure he'd never forget. But then again, the drama that had followed with Neal would stick with him too, tainting their stolen moment in the hallway ever so slightly.

He remembered the flash of primal fury that had gripped him due to the way Neal had spoken to her, and the way she'd ended up taking a blow to the face from her idiot ex that was most certainly not meant for her. And that unfortunate event had essentially led them to where they were now. Falling apart at the seams. Just as Neal had wanted, no doubt.

Why couldn't she see that she was playing into his hands? Sure, she would never go back to him, of that Killian was sure, but his manipulative tactics had clearly been designed to wrench her happiness from her. Though he was sure that pointing it out to her wouldn't help at this point.

Growling in frustration, Killian glanced over at the clock. They were to set off for the airport at 4am and he knew he should sleep, but he also knew that there was no way he could when the hours he had left with Emma were rapidly slipping through his fingers.

Which is why he found himself stood outside her door a few minutes later, hesitating for just a second before tentatively rapping his knuckles against the wood. He held his breath, hearing her shuffling about on the other side of the door briefly before the door swung open.

She'd clearly not been asleep, but he mumbled an apology for waking her anyway and she offered him a tight smile. There was a tense silence for endless seconds before she cleared her throat.

"Killian…? You knocked on my door. It's quarter after midnight…not to be rude, but what do you want?"

He shifted uncomfortably and ducked his head. How could he use the excuse that he just wanted to see her when it was such an uncivilized hour? He didn't know what to say, other than the truth.

"I couldn't sleep," he sighed, running his hand through his hair, "I…Emma…can we sleep together?"

Her eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up in disbelief. It was then he realized exactly what his request had sounded like and he felt his ears burning with embarrassment. Holding up his hands and shaking his head, he quickly clarified what he'd meant.

"No, I don't mean…not like that. God, that's not what I meant. Sorry. Shit. I just meant…can I fall asleep next to you one last time? We don't even have to touch. I just…if I'm never gonna see you again, can I at least wake up with you one more time?"

Emma hesitated and he felt his heart drop. He hadn't really thought through the whole 'turning up at her door and asking to be her bedmate' thing. He stepped back then, scratching behind his ear with an apology on the tip of his tongue when she pulled open the door a little more.

"Alright," she said quietly, turning to move back into the room and leaving the door open for him, "But you better not hog the covers, Jones."

* * *

_CS_

* * *

Emma couldn't sleep. The dread she felt as the hours ticked by was slowly growing into a knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. Everything in her was telling her this was all wrong, that leaving him behind and running away (okay technically she'd been running away when she fled to England) wasn't going to fix anything. In fact, it was only going to break them both all over again.

But at the same time, there was that small voice in the back of her mind demanding that she stick to her guns, that giving up now would save them both a lot of heartache in the long run. And truth be told, Emma was terrified of losing him, but trying to make it work and gradually losing him because she wasn't enough (she was never enough in the end) would only tear her apart more than if she cut the ties before she gave him all of her heart.

She felt Killian shift beside her then and he sighed deeply, turning on his side to face her. He was fast asleep, his lips pursed slightly and his face softer than it ever was during the day. She couldn't help the sad smile that tugged at her lips as she tried to commit to memory every detail of him. The scar on his right cheek that she loved to graze her thumb across; the slight furrow in his brows as he huffed out another sigh in his sleep. The way his hair stuck up at odd angles because he could never just sleep in one position, and God how she ached to run her hands through that hair one more time.

A while later, just as Emma was finally starting to drift off, she felt the warm firmness of him curling around her, his casted arm absently settling over her waist and gently tugging her back against him. He seemed to gravitate toward her, even in his sleep. And she complied, relaxing into his embrace and trying to lock away the feeling in her memory along with everything else. She always felt so warm, so safe and protected, when she was in his arms, regardless of the situation. But in less than nine hours she was going to be putting over five thousand miles between them. She was probably never going to see him again.

And in the stillness of the early hours, wrapped in her lover's arms for the last time, Emma Swan let herself cry. She cried for everything she could have had with him, for the happiness she'd only been afforded the briefest taste of, and for what she was about to lose forever.

* * *

_CS_

* * *

The journey to the airport at 4am was tense to say the least. Neither of them spoke much, despite having a thousand things to say to one another before it was too late. Emma could tell her was biting his tongue and it was the longest two and a half hour drive of her life. Whenever they did speak, it was small talk to fill the silence, and her heart ached that they'd come to this. Because of her. Because of her shit show of a life and her fears of dragging him down with her.

When they arrived at the airport, he helped her with her suitcase and desperately tried to quash the dread rising like bile in his throat. He waited as she checked in her luggage and walked with her as far as he was allowed to the departure area. She turned to look at him, and he could quite clearly see the pain reflected back at him in her eyes. He swallowed hard, reaching for her with a shaking hand.

"Killian…"

She said carefully, and he could hear the plea, the warning, in her tone.

_('Please let me go. Please don't make a scene. Please don't ask me to stay.')_

There were enough people giving them sidelong glances as it was, clearly recognizing Emma and whispering behind their hands, without him drawing unwanted attention. It irked him slightly but Emma barely seemed to notice. She was used to it. And really, it was the last thing on his mind at that moment.

"Emma. I know you don't want me to say it, because it'll make this harder. But I can't watch you walk away without telling you-"

Her eyes widened slightly and he grasped her hand in fear that she'd turn and run before he gave her the words he'd been so sure of within days of meeting her.

" _Please_  don't do this, Killian," she begged, barely more than a whisper, eyes shimmering, "Don't say it when you know I have to walk away."

"But you don't  _have to_. You have a choice here, Emma, and it isn't too late."

He knew he was begging and it probably wasn't all that becoming on him, but he desperately needed her to  _listen_  to him, to realize what a huge mistake she was making. But watching her close her eyes for a moment and take a steadying breath, he got the impression she was well aware that leaving was a mistake. And yet, it was a mistake she felt she had to make, for them both to be okay in the end. He didn't agree.

"I'm saving us both a lot of pain in the long run. It might not feel like that now but-"

"I love you. Emma,  _I love you_. I don't know what you think I need saving from but it sure as hell isn't you. Haven't I proven to you by now that I'll deal with whatever the media or your douchebag of an ex decides to throw at us? Because all of it is worth it if I get to be with you."

She was crying then, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. She wasn't wearing makeup but if she had been she was sure she'd be sporting some very attractive panda eyes to compliment the fading bruise on her cheek. It took her a moment to find her voice, choked by tears, but when she did it sounded foreign even to her own ears.

"It might feel worth it right now, but it wears you down. Living like I do…you'll hate it. You'll resent me. You'll feel trapped and suffocated, like you can't make a single move without it being over-analyzed and scandalized by the whole fucking world. I don't want that for you, Killian. Because you might not think so now, but somewhere along the line you'll realize it's not worth it. I'm not worth it."

Killian wasn't sure whether frustration or sorrow was winning out as he looked at her. She honestly couldn't see what he saw when he looked at her, otherwise she'd surely know that she  _was_  worth it. That she was the best, albeit most bittersweet, thing that had ever happened to him. He could never resent her or stop believing that she hung the sun, the moon and all the fucking stars in his universe. And yet she seemed to believe that her lifestyle would taint his feelings for her.

He didn't know how to assure her that nothing and no one could  _ever_ taint his feelings for her. So instead he did the only thing he could do. He kissed her. It wasn't anything like the sweet, slow, passionate kisses they'd shared previously. This kiss was desperate; a plea, a promise, everything he couldn't find the words to say. And he felt her sob against his lips.

Pulling back finally, resting his forehead against hers, he whispered her name. He felt the wetness of her tears as he cupped her cheek with his good hand and she momentarily leaned into his touch. But the moment was broken when she suddenly stepped back, a broken gaze meeting his and a whispered "I'm sorry' hanging between them as she wrenched herself from him and turned away.

He could feel tears in his own eyes as he watched her walk through the departure gate, her shoulders slumped and her head bowed. He hadn't cried for years, but watching her walk out of his life, the first woman he'd loved since Milah...he didn't fight the stray tear that made its way down his cheek.

* * *

 


	19. Chapter 19

Emma had never felt quite so disheartened by the sight of the familiar LAX runway. It usually meant the end of a tour and had always felt like coming home. That relief was accompanied by warm familiarity and the knowledge that she'd finally be sleeping in her own bed again.

But now? Well, now all she felt was a dull sense of dread and a not-so-dull sense of loss and finality. She was 'home' but it sure as hell didn't feel like that. She felt like she'd left her home - her blue-eyed, perfect scruffy jaw-lined home - five thousand miles behind her.

One small mercy was the privacy she was afforded in First Class. She would have been free to cry for 11 hours straight if she so wished. But she hadn't. Instead she'd sat in her booth quietly, in a numb sort of daze, and stared at movie after movie. She couldn't recall the titles of any of those she'd watched, having barely taken anything in.

As she'd stared with a glassy gaze at the screen in front of her, she'd played back every memory with Killian. She played back the way he smiled,  _really_ smiled, with dimples winking in his cheeks that made her want to poke them and kiss him, both at the same time. She remembered how he always scratched behind his ear with his casted hand when he was embarrassed, and how the tips of his ears would turn red. She always found that so annoyingly endearing.

And most of all she remembered the way he made her feel. How it felt like fireworks going off in her stomach and heart simultaneously when he smiled at her, his eyes soft and adoring.

She remembered how the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up when he grazed her cheek with his thumb or lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles, for no reason, whenever they held hands.

She would never forget how she felt so loved and wanted, as though she was something precious, when she was in his arms. And she was sure that the empty ache in her heart that had replaced the full, warm feeling of being somebody's everything would never really go away now.

But then, she wasn't sure she wanted it to. Because if she stopped feeling that way, it would mean her heart had stopped loving him so much and she would much rather feel pain than nothing at all when it came to Killian Jones. What they'd had, the happy, beautiful snapshot in time and the stolen moments they'd managed to share, were so worth it.

When she finally walked through the airport with her suitcase dragged behind her, oversized sunglasses and a sunhat doing a poor job of masking her identity, Emma glanced around looking for Mary Margaret. She kept her head bowed as much as possible, in no mood to paste a fake smile on her face for anyone, and was relieved when she spotted her sister's distinctive pixie cut, making a beeline for her immediately.

"Emma," she said softly, "I'm glad you're home."

She could hear the sympathy in her sister's tone and wished that the tight hug she was currently wrapped in would make her feel even the slightest bit better.

"I'll fill you in on everything later. Right now I just wanna get back and unpack everything."

Emma replied, words muffled against her sister's shoulder. Mary Margaret pulled back and studied her for a second before nodding. She knew Emma well enough to know not to push.

So, she didn't ask a single question about her trip to England the entire half hour drive back to Los Feliz. Emma could tell it was killing her, but she appreciated the effort, even if she was zoned out for most of the time Mary Margaret was babbling on. Something about some little league baseball team David had started coaching and that he'd brought home two dogs from the shelter he worked at, so now they had two rambunctious puppies – a Maltese-Shih Tzu mix and a cocker spaniel - running around causing mayhem.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, Emma sighed and stared out blankly at the white stucco walls of her striking Spanish Colonial. She couldn't help but feel the word 'home' didn't fit this place anymore. It had once been her safe haven, a gated castle that she could retreat to whenever she needed a timeout from her own life. She and Neal had a shared apartment across town too, but the Los Feliz house had always been her space and hers alone.

"Emma, you know if you wanna talk about it…I'm right here. Always."

Tearing herself out of her own thoughts, Emma forced a tight smile and nodded as she looked over at her sister. Mary Margaret had always had the worst poker face, and she was doing nothing to hide the blatant concern radiating off of her in waves.

"I'm fine. I just need some coffee and time to myself. I'll be alright, I promise," at the doubtful expression on her sister's face she rolled her eyes, "Stop looking at me with those eyes, as though the next time you see me I'll have strung myself up from one of the chandeliers. I'm  _fine_."

Mary Margaret scowled and shook her head.

"That's not funny, Emma. Don't even joke about it. I'm  _worried_  about you, okay? I know you don't like opening up about how you feel unless you've got a band behind you and a million screaming fans singing the words back at you, but you  _can_  talk to me."

Hesitating, Emma finally nodded, reaching over to give her sister's hand a squeeze. She was one of the very few people she knew would never let her down. She might be a little overbearing, but it all came from a good place. Emma had never met anyone with a heart as big as Mary Margaret's. Except maybe Killian.

And there he was again. Constantly on the peripheries, slipping into thoughts he had no right to invade. Feeling her smile falter, Emma turned to get out of the car, quietly thanking her sister for the ride. Pausing, she turned back one more time, meeting Mary Margaret's gaze.

"I do appreciate you, y'know. I may not talk about how I feel unless it's in lyric form, but I do know you're always there for me. I'm not going to do anything stupid, I can promise you that. I may be a little miserable, but I'll get over it…I'll get over  _him_. Just be patient with me. I love you. Now go home and see how many thousands of dollars' worth of damage those pups have caused while you've been out."

With that, Emma offered her a genuinely warm smile and retrieved her suitcase from the trunk, waving her sister off and wearily heading into the house she wasn't sure would ever really be her home again.

* * *

_CS_

* * *

The days quickly turned into weeks, which rolled over into months. Emma spent most of her time locked away in the studio, or in her songwriting room at home, pouring everything she had into turning out a new album. The first thing she'd done the day after her return had been to break from her record label. There'd been meetings and tantrums thrown by the big bosses (apparently losing their biggest name wasn't high on their to-do list) but eventually they'd conceded defeat and freed her from her contract. Her band had followed, which surprised no one.

She'd started a new month with a new label (namely a long-time rival label), a new manager and his blessing to go about her song-writing process however she so wished. Which luckily meant she was free to hibernate in her new studio. She hadn't heard anything from Neal, but she was entirely convinced that was more down to Mary Margaret bouncing back any attempts from him to contact her than a lack of trying on his part.

But she was glad, because she wasn't sure how she'd react to seeing that damn smug face of his again. She knew it could go one of two ways. Either she'd punch him so hard he'd be knocked into the next decade, or she'd simply crack and break down. She didn't know which would be worse, because either way he'd know that he still had power over her.

So instead of allowing her focus to drift to her seething hatred for her ex, or the hollow ache in her chest anytime Killian crept into her thoughts, she threw herself fiercely into her work. She wasn't oblivious to the concerned glances Graham and her other band members exchanged when they turned up to the studio to find out she'd been there all night…for the third day on the run. But she chose to ignore them, and her band were wise enough to know not to broach the subject.

Within 6 weeks she'd put together an album, including some of the songs she'd written while in England. Those had been the hardest to record. Singing the words she'd written back when her feelings for Killian were shiny and new and untainted by everything that came after had clawed at her heart so painfully that it had taken her numerous attempt to finish the recordings.

The others knew of her brief romance with 'the English guy', but they carefully avoiding bringing him up, until one day Graham decided enough was enough. Emma had called a timeout and had disappeared out of the side-door, the way she usually did when things were hitting a little too close to home for her.

He found her crouched down against the wall in the dimly-lit hallway that seemed to serve no real purpose other than as a breathing space for Emma a few times each week. He stopped in the doorway for a moment, feeling a little awkward to be invading her private moment.

"Emma…"

Graham started softly, not wanting to startle her. She had her head in her hands, crouched down and hunched over, but looked up sharply when he spoke. She sniffled a little but quickly wiped a hand over her face and pushed herself up to stand. Before he could say anything more, ask her if she was alright or some other clichéd bullshit, she quickly fixed the façade she'd long since perfected and moved to breeze past him with an airy 'I'm fine'. But Graham wasn't having it this time and he gently but firmly grabbed her arm as she tried to slip past him.

"Cut the crap, Emma. You're not fine. We can all see you're not. I know Neal has gotten into your head and screwed you up pretty good but we're your friends, and we're here for you-"

"Jesus, Graham, this isn't about Neal. Please just drop it. I don't want to talk about it. Let's just get this damn song recorded and we'll call it a day."

She gave him a look that said quite plainly that he'd drop it if he knew what was good for him, and with a defeated sigh and a slump of his shoulders he let go of her.

"Just so you know, I'm a good listener. And if you do wanna talk…I'm not going anywhere."

She'd been about to turn and walk back into the recording room but his words made her stop, and she remembered back when she'd spoken to him on the phone back in England. He'd sounded so concerned about her and she hadn't really spared a second thought for how her upping and leaving must have affected him. He'd earned himself a black eye after getting in Neal's way but it was still her he'd been worrying about.

She may not share his feelings, but she appreciated that he'd always stood by her, and she realized she'd always selfishly overlooked how much he'd always had her back.

Turning back to face him, she offered him a soft, sad smile.

"I know you're not going anywhere. You've always supported me and had my back and I shouldn't have taken that for granted. You're a great friend, Graham," she didn't miss the way his jaw twitched and his shoulders dropped slightly but she continued, "I know I don't say it enough and I tend to push people away when they're trying to help me, but I appreciate you being here, even if I'm a bit of a dick sometimes."

He started to protest her last remark but she shook her head, moving forward to fold herself into his arms in a hug that took him by surprise. Emma wasn't really the hugging type. Not until she'd met Killian and the warm firmness of his embrace had chased away all of her demons. Graham's hug didn't have that same powerful effect, but it was somewhat comforting nonetheless and she sighed.

He didn't seem willing to break the embrace himself so she pulled back after a moment, offering him a slightly awkward smile and canting her head toward the recording room.

"We should get back."

She said softly and he reluctantly nodded, following her back inside without another word.

* * *

_CS_

* * *

"I don't want to go."

"Emma…you don't really have a choice. I know you hate this stuff but you're nominated for a boatload of awards and the label have been pretty clear about wanting you there."

Emma knew full well she was acting like a petulant child, and Mary Margaret had the patience of a saint. Awards shows really weren't all that bad, and when she was in the mood for it she sometimes actually  _enjoyed_  the ordeal. Once the red carpet part was over, at least. The idea of standing in front of hundreds of photographers, the generic award show backdrop behind her, and for the first time not having Neal to cling onto as her palms began to sweat, was causing mild panic to settle in the pit of her stomach.

She'd never been to one of these things alone but she knew full well that the media would be all over her about Killian (some were  _still_  talking about that) or about her 'newly-single status'. It grated on her that her relationship status or the label of the dress she wore were the two most important things to them. But there wasn't a thing she could do to change that.

Mary Margaret was still reeling off reasons she had to attend the event, but Emma had zoned out until her sister snapped her fingers in front of her face.

"Emma. Come on. Did you listen to any of what I just said?"

Emma smiled sheepishly and Mary Margaret rolled her eyes.

"I  _said_ …why don't you ask Graham to go with you?" Emma stared at her in confusion and she continued, "I just mean…I know you don't wanna go alone and maybe it'd be good to have someone there with you who has a calming influence. Graham's a good bet."

Emma hesitated, knowing that inviting him to be her 'date' for this event, parading him around on her arm in front of the media, could be a slippery slope and lead to awkwardness she sure as hell didn't want. He was a good friend, but that was all. She was acutely aware now that his feelings for her went beyond that, and she didn't want to lead him on in any way.

"I really don't think that's-"

"You could be really clear about it being a platonic thing."

Emma's eyes widened again. She didn't realize Graham's feelings were  _public knowledge_. Was she the only one who'd been in the dark until recently? Her sister noticed her surprise and chuckled.

"I'm quite perceptive. And he doesn't exactly hide the yearning looks and doe-y eyes."

Emma felt her cheeks flush and rolled her eyes in defiance. Mary Margaret had a very bad habit of trying to matchmake and it never ended well. Frankly, she was terrible at it.

"I'm not interested. Not even remotely. He's a friend and that's it. There's more chance I'd start dating August, if I'm being brutally honest. So you can get that idea out of your head immediately."

Her sister rolled her eyes but seemed to acquiesce, dropping the subject after one more pointed reminder that she  _had_  to go to the award show, so she would also have to make a decision between going alone and taking a friend. Reluctantly, Emma knew which option she was going to end up choosing.

* * *

_CS_

* * *

Graham had agreed. Of course he'd agreed. Unsurprisingly, he'd been quite enthusiastic about the whole thing, and Emma had felt like she was kicking a puppy when she made sure it was extremely clear that it would  _not_  be a date. He would be on her arm as her friend. Nothing more.

They'd arranged to pick Graham up in the limousine on the way to Staples Center, and Emma had never felt quite so aware of having bare legs. She wore a stunning, black-and-lace, intricately designed dress combining a black and sheer leotard corset attached to a sheer, full-length black skirt, coupled with killer black Louboutins. The whole outfit did wonders for showcasing just how long her legs were.

When Graham climbed into the limo, she'd nodded appreciatively at his dapper attire – the generic tux and bowtie combo looked good on him, and he'd even shaved for the occasion.

"You look good. Haven't seen you clean-shaven in a long while."

She smiled, trying to keep the atmosphere in the back of the car as relaxed as possible and bite back the urge to yet again remind him it was all platonic. If she was honest, she was aching for Killian's reassuring presence by her side more than ever, and it killed her a little more every time she found her thoughts wandering to him unbidden.

Graham grinned in response, smoothing his shirt and flushing a little at her compliment.

"Yeah, I figured I should make an effort considering I'll be on the arm of the most beautiful woman in Hollywood tonight. And you look…breathtaking. As always."

He was nervous, she could tell, and she wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand, remind him there was nothing to be nervous about because  _it wasn't a date_. But she knew it was more than that. He was more than aware of how wild the media could get when they were presented with fresh meat, and Emma turning up to a red carpet event with him would surely cause chaos.

He was attractive, she would admit that. She did have  _eyes_  after all, and it was no secret that a portion of her fanbase was equally as taken with Graham as they were with her. He had his own little set of groupies who turned up to shows and quite openly mooned over him on the front row. Emma had always found it somewhat endearing, but Graham had struggled to adjust to it, blushing and laughing it off whenever he saw them waiting for a chance to meet him after shows.

She wondered how many of their little fangirl hearts would break when the pictures of him on Emma's arm were plastered all over magazines the following day. And she wondered if Graham was really ready for being accosted by paparazzi at any given moment, solely because of rumors they were no doubt about to start.

The rest of the short journey to the show was taken in comfortable silence, but Emma could feel the tension in her shoulders becoming more prominent when they turned onto S. Figueroa and the crowds suddenly appeared. The red carpet was already bustling, with limo after limo lined up to deliver their precious cargo in an orderly fashion while paparazzi and fans all reacted enthusiastically to each A-lister as they appeared.

She felt her heart stuttering and her palms beginning to sweat as she watched the line grow shorter, and Graham suddenly grabbed her hand. She looked over at him hesitantly and he smiled.

"It'll be over in a little while. We'll just smile and wave for a few minutes, talk to as few interviewers as we can get away with, and then head inside. And I'll be right next to you. You'll be fine, Emma, I promise. You don't have to answer any questions you don't want to answer."

She could feel her eyes stinging with tears and quickly blinked them back. Graham was a good friend. She knew he was referring to questions about Killian, and she was sincerely hoping the interviewers would avoid that topic considering she had another man by her side. But she couldn't be sure. And the uncertainty was what made her so nervous.

Nodding and squeezing his hand back, whispering a sincere 'thank you', Emma took a deep breath and steeled herself as the door was opened for them and the roar of the crowd assaulted her ears. Graham stepped out first and waited for her to elegantly emerge from the car, the sheer chiffon of her skirt allowing the pleasant warmth of early-evening air to hit bare skin.

She righted herself effortlessly in her impossibly high heels and daintily took the arm Graham was offering her, attempting to ignore the flurry of activity as paparazzi fell all over themselves in their haste to snap as many pictures as they could. They were yelling her name and Emma took a steadying breath, plastering a smile onto her face and allowing Graham to start the journey across the carpet toward the main photography area.

They were accosted three times in the short distance between the limo and the backdropped red carpet area, but thankfully all three interviewers had stayed safely within the topics of her dress and shoe designers and her upcoming single. They were extremely limited for time and though Emma could tell they desperately wanted to ask a thousand more questions, no doubt ones that would involve Killian, they were cut short and ushered along by bemused staffers, much to her relief.

When they reached the main photography area, questions were shouted out to her, and the first time she heard someone shout a question about Killian, she flinched and felt her smile falter. But Graham murmured a soft reassurance and reminded her she didn't have to answer any questions here. She could just keep her mouth shut, smile and move on. Which is exactly what she did.

When they finally made it inside, Emma deflated, the tension that had been starting to make her neck and shoulders ache suddenly released once she was away from the glare of camera flashes. Graham's quiet encouragements that she did great and that the worst part was over now washed over her and she nodded numbly, still hearing Killian's name echoing over the shouts of the reporters in her head.

Finding their seats and dropping down heavily onto the padded cushions, Emma rolled her neck to ease out the kinks. It was going to be a long night. She was up for half a dozen awards and she had to be on form, all too aware that all eyes were on her at her first official public appearance since returning from England.

The night passed somewhat uneventfully, and she managed to gracefully accept all of her awards without incident, reeling off heartfelt acceptance speeches thanking her family, friends and fans for all their support.

As she'd moved to exit the stage after accepting her final award of the night, her eyes drifted across the crowd and she found Graham's gaze. He was beaming at her, clapping proudly, and she felt a stab of guilt. He had feelings for her that she could never return. Not when her heart wasn't her own to give away anymore. He knew that and he still stuck around, still supported her through everything.

As they'd sat through numerous performances and award categories though, all Emma could think about was how much she wished Killian was sat beside her. She imagined how he'd have responded to the glare of the camera flashes and the invasive questions about the nature of his relationship with Emma. Because she had no doubt that the tactless journalists would have been all over him, given the opportunity.

Forcing him out of her mind, she tried to focus on the performances instead, and when the show finally ended, all she wanted to do was go home. But instead they were being ushered to an after party and Emma knew she didn't have a choice. She had to make more of an effort to keep up appearances, despite never having particularly enjoyed the party lifestyle she was expected to have in her line of work.

So they'd shown their faces at a few parties, chatting amicably with other artists who were in attendance, and posing for numerous photographs. Her face was aching from all the smiling, but she was used to it and it wasn't as painful an experience as she'd anticipated. It did help that she bumped into a number of people she knew, some of whom she'd worked with in a professional capacity, and others whom Neal had introduced her to. They were all diplomatic enough not to go near the subject of Neal or her trip to England, and she appreciated it.

As the night was drawing to a close, Emma's feet beginning to ache despite her affinity for heels, Graham suddenly appeared by her side and looped his arm through hers.

"Oh, hey. I was wondering where you were-"

She offered him a smile, but it faltered when she saw his expression. He was darting glances across the room and his face had paled. Following his line of sight, she immediately felt tension flood her body as her eyes landed on him.

Neal.

He hadn't noticed them, and he was laughing with someone Emma didn't recognize, while the girl on his arm – Tamara, she remembered – sipped on her drink and glanced around the room with disinterest.

"Let's go. Now."

Emma murmured, and Graham held up her jacket.

"Already ahead of you. And the car's waiting out front. I saw him coming in about ten minutes ago but I couldn't find you. Let's get out of here."

They weaved through the thinning crowd around the bar and made a beeline for the grand hallway leading out to the pebbled drive where their means of escape awaited them. They were just starting down the steps, Emma's heart beating wildly in her chest with the adrenaline of their sudden departure, when she heard her name being called from behind her.

She felt her stomach flip with anxiety, stopping dead halfway down the steps, and closed her eyes for a moment before turning to face him.

"Neal."

She said curtly, careful to maintain a blank expression as he grinned at her wolfishly. It made her want to grimace, disgust coursing through her, but she held it back.

"Welcome home, Em. So nice to see you here. I wondered whether you'd worm your way out of tonight, but I guess you didn't really have a choice. Congratulations on the awards, by the way. Well deserved."

She bit her tongue to prevent the litany of abuse she so wanted to unleash on him from escaping, and instead smiled, even if it did feel more like a baring of her teeth.

"Thanks. I have to go."

She moved to leave again but his voice once more stopped her in her tracks.

"Pity your British boytoy couldn't make it. And the little lapdog you brought with you isn't much of a consolation prize really, is he?"

Graham was waiting by the car now, and she glanced over at him. His jaw was clenched and she could tell her was trying as hard as she was to rein in the urge to punch Neal in the face. But she'd already been there and she wasn't looking to cause a scene outside an A-Lister's house party.

"Go back inside, Neal. I have nothing left to say to you."

Proud of herself for managing to cling on to her self-control, Emma turned on her heel and breezed down the rest of the steps, tuning out whatever Neal was attempting to say in response. Graham grinned at her, just as he had done when she'd been up on stage accepting her awards, and she returned it before slipping into the car and sagging into the seat with relief.

"Well…as confrontations with exes go, that really wasn't so bad."

Graham mused, settling into the seat beside her. She gave a humorless laugh and lead her head back, eyes closed as a heavy sigh passed her lips.

"It would've been worse if we'd stuck around. And even more so if he'd had an audience. He won't have liked not getting the last word in though, so I'm not expecting him to drop this."

Graham muttered his agreement and they lapsed into comfortable silence for the rest of the drive. Emma was dropped off first and she thanked Graham for helping her get through the evening, before heading into her blissfully quiet house and kicking her heels off with a deep sigh of relief.

She was in her pajamas, curled up in her bed within ten minutes of arriving home. Overall, the night hadn't been as disastrous as she knew it could have been, but the minor altercation with Neal had certainly cast a pall. And of course, it had sent her mind spinning right back to Killian.

She spent every night lying awake, staring at her ceiling and thinking of him. Usually, she knew he'd be just waking up as she fell into bed, but she was awake much later than usual and with the time difference, she wondered what he was doing, considering it was almost midday in England.

The urge to call him was never far away, but she'd deleted his number for that very reason. She couldn't trust herself not to crumble and call him, in a moment of weakness. She knew she couldn't do that to him. It would be too cruel, for both of them. She couldn't expect him to move on if she kept him hanging on with a phonecall.

Imagining his voice, and the lilts of his accent, was one thing, but she knew that if she called him and heard his voice down the line, she'd break down. All the hard work she'd put into getting back on her feet, convincing everyone around her that she was just peachy, would all be undone the second she heard his voice.

So, instead, she did what she'd done every night since returning. She let the tears slip onto her pillow and fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

 


	20. Chapter 20

Two months ago. That was the last time Killian could recall waking up without a hangover. And yet, no matter how much rum he drowned himself in, he couldn't drown out the hollow, gnawing feeling that was slowly seeping into every piece of him. It was searing him from the inside out, until all he could feel was the bone-deep, aching numbness that had come with losing her.

Liam had quickly grown tired of his little brother's moping, and his reassurances had waned, being replaced instead by clipped tones and exasperation. But it didn't seem to matter whether Liam comforted him or yelled; nothing was getting through to Killian.

Jane had tried too, but to no avail. They both knew the only one who could bring him out of his spiral into depression was Emma, and even if she'd been willing to do so, they had no way to contact her. Which was mostly Liam's fault, because he'd taken it upon himself to delete her number from his little brother's phone one night when Killian had passed out drunk on the lawn, taking away the high probability that he'd try to call her in a drunken stupor. That said, Liam had guessed that the number would be out of service anyway, considering she'd been using a burner phone in the first place. But still, he hadn't been willing to take that chance.

So, all they could do was watch Killian drink himself into oblivion day after day, feeling an unsettling sense of déjà vu as memories of his depression following Milah's death were brought back to the surface. And they were both helpless to do anything about it, once again.

Jane had tried once to get in touch with Emma, unbeknownst to Liam and Killian, via her management. She'd done a considerable amount of detective work on Google to find out who exactly she needed to call and tried desperately to convince the intern of the PA of Emma's manager that she wasn't, in fact, some crazed fan with an elaborate plan to get through to Emma. But as diplomatic and understanding as the intern was, Jane couldn't even convince him to put her through to the PA, let alone the manager or Emma herself. It was a fruitless quest, as she'd guessed it would be.

Hollywood's sweetheart was protected by a fortress of admin staff, assistants and interns, not to mention her literal personal security. And Jane supposed that that was simply the way it had to be to afford Emma the minuscule amount of privacy the world deemed her worthy of. But it didn't help the current situation.

After two months of watching a hungover, miserable Killian moping around the hotel, and a failed attempt to get in touch with Emma via her management, Jane was at the end of her tether. She knew Killian hadn't left the hotel since he'd returned from dropping Emma at the airport, and figured that forcing him to go through the motions of something as routine as grocery shopping would be a good place for him to start on the road back to normalcy.

She scribbled out a list of things they needed, and headed to Killian's room. As she'd expected, he was sitting by his window, staring blankly out into the courtyard with his earphones in, no doubt listening to some morose song about lost love.

She yanked one of the earphones out and he turned to face her, remaining expressionless.

"I need you to go to Tesco for me. Here's a list and my credit card."

She thrust them into his hand and marched back out of the room, ignoring his weak attempt at a protest. He appeared in the lobby a few minutes later, and she held her hand up when he opened his mouth to talk.

"I don't wanna hear it. You're going shopping for me," she tossed him his keys from behind the reception desk, "Off you go."

Killian knew it was futile arguing with Jane and slumped his shoulders in defeat like a petulant teenager, glowering at her in defiance as he headed for the car.

* * *

_CS_

* * *

He'd planned to be in and out of the supermarket within five minutes. Jane's list was pretty short and he was convinced she'd sent him solely to get him out of the hotel, and not because she actually needed grapes, wet wipes, aloe vera water or a pack of highlighter pens so desperately that she couldn't wait a few more days until she did a full weekly shop herself.

Scowling as he tossed two large bottles of Jane's favored aloe vera water into the shopping cart, Killian suddenly became aware that eyes were on him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw two teenage girls and a guy he guessed to be in his early twenties, if that, whispering and staring at him.

Confused, he wondered if he'd spilled something on himself or put his shirt on backwards. It was only when the guy stomped over to him and got right up into his face that it clicked.

"You're that prick that gave Emma Swan a black eye, aren't you?"

Killian was so shocked by the sudden grip the young guy had on his shirt that he stumbled over his words.

"I – what…no…that's…I didn't…would never-"

But before he could put a complete sentence together and tell the kid - who looked like he spent seven days a week in the gym - that he was mistaken, that he'd never hurt Emma, a fist was heading for his face. Killian staggered backward, bent double, hands instinctively covering his face as a sharp streak of pain bloomed from his nose and resonated around his skull. He vaguely heard the guy say something like "that's what you get when you beat up women, you piece of shit", but he was too dazed to take it in, blood dripping through his fingers to the floor.

Instead of anyone rushing to his aid though, the other people in the aisle simply stared at him in disgust. Apparently, they shared the same opinion of him as the guy who'd delivered a right hook to his face.

Straightening up, Killian tried to stem the bleeding from his nose with his jacket sleeve, abandoning his shopping cart and making his way quickly to the store's bathrooms while ignoring the startled looks from those he passed on the way.

Making it to the single-cubicle bathroom, Killian locked himself in and ran the faucet, watching the blood from his hands turn the water a swirling mix of red and pinks before it washed away down the drain. He set about cleaning up his bloodied face then, hissing in pain when he touched his nose.

Definitely broken. Just like the rest of him.

Once the worst of the mess was cleaned up, Killian sank down to the floor, the adrenaline from being hit wearing off and leaving him with an overwhelming sense of despair. Not only had he lost the woman he loved, but people actually believed he'd hurt her. They believed he was some abusive low-life who was capable of hitting a woman, and they believed it with such conviction that they felt the need to punch him in the middle of a supermarket.

Leaning back against the wall, he pulled his knees up and rested his elbows on them, his forehead pressing into his palms. Alone in a supermarket bathroom stall, Killian felt every last ounce of hope, of strength, draining away and for the first time in a long time, he let himself cry.

* * *

_CS_

* * *

"Jesus, Killian, what the hell happened to your face?!"

Jane shot round from behind the reception desk the moment she saw Killian's fast-developing matching set of black eyes, and the very obvious evidence of a recently bloodied nose.

Killian glared at her, tossing his keys behind the desk.

"Don't ask me to go shopping for you again. If people think you've beat up a female celebrity, apparently they aren't too shy about showing you exactly what they think of you."

Jane looked horror-stricken and stepped closer to inspect the damage, but Killian sidestepped her, making his way back toward his room.

"Killian, I'm sorry. This will all die down."

She called after him and she heard him scoff in response. After watching him disappear, Jane turned back to the computer with fierce determination now prickling under her skin. She had to fix all of this before things got even worse. She knew it could possible result in people targeting him at home and, right now, the hotel was the only safe place he had.

Before Killian had returned home, Jane had been digging deeper and deeper into a few possible avenues that would perhaps give her the chance to get a message to Emma. It felt strange to be able to read about every single minute detail of Emma's life simply by typing her name into Google. But that was clearly the price of fame, and it made Jane acutely aware of how much she didn't envy Emma.

Opening up the page she'd been on before Killian had arrived and distracted her with his broken nose and bitterness, she scanned the article and an idea suddenly occurred to her. One she couldn't believe hadn't entered her mind before.

Mary Margaret Blanchard.

Emma's sister. The one mentioned briefly in every biographical article about the popstar she'd come across. There weren't much in the way of details, aside from a Twitter handle and 'possible' Facebook link buried deep in one very thorough, fan-collected info website dedicated to adoring every move Emma made.

Following the links, Jane quickly followed Mary Margaret's Twitter account, and scrutinized the Facebook page to try and identify any possible warning lights for it being a fake account. The 'Add Friend' button was disabled, but it was possible to send a message to the account, so Jane decided to bite the bullet and do so, reminding herself that really, at this point, there was nothing to lose.

**_Hi, Mary Margaret._ **   
**_My name is Jane Cameron. I'm engaged to Killian Jones' brother, and I urgently need to speak with you. I won't say much more here, just in case this is a fake account. But if you can speak with me, please call me as soon as you get this. I'll put my number at the bottom of this message._ **   
**_Thank you._ **   
**_Jane._ **

She quickly sent the message and stared at the tiny little checkmark she hoped would soon be accompanied by a 'Read' notification. After a few moments, she logged out and ensured her mobile notifications were set to loud, before distracting herself with the hotel logs and ensuring the business files were in order.

Less than a half hour later, her phone buzzed insistently and she snatched it up, heart stuttering as she punched in her security code and opened the reply message.

**_Jane,_ **   
**_Am I alright to call you now?_ **

Jane's stomach did a somersault and she grinned down at the screen. Trying to tamper down her excitement at the possible progress, she made a mental note not to get her hopes up. But she still found herself holding her breath the second she sent back a quick reply of agreement.

Moments later her phone rang, a +1 number with a location tag of 'Los Angeles, California' underneath it. Quickly accepting the call, she glanced over her shoulder to ensure Killian hadn't reappeared.

"Mary Margaret? Thank you for responding so quickly."

The woman on the other end of the line paused for a moment, and Jane could immediately tell she was wary. No doubt from years of experience with slimy journalists trying to weezle information out of her with decidedly underhanded techniques.

"How can I be sure that you are who you say you are?"

Mary Margaret finally said, her voice somehow both kind and suspicious at the same time.

"The entire world seems to believe Killian is capable of hurting a woman. But you and I both know Neal is the one who orchestrated this. I had him locked in a closet here at the hotel for quite a while after he waltzed in here and attempted to employ bully tactics to force Emma to leave with him. I still don't quite know what went on, but I ensured he was detained here while Emma and Killian headed down to my family, who have a boat that they borrowed so they could escape the media for a few days. When they got back...well, that's when all this drama really started to unfold. Is that enough assurance for you?"

Once again, there was a pause, and then Mary Margaret sighed.

"Emma hasn't been right since she got back. She's distant; throwing herself into her work, locking herself away in the studio. She says it's because she has so much to do for the new album, and she's good at putting on a front for the media...but I know her too well for any of her fake smiles to work on me. The first time I'd heard her happy in a long while was when she called me from your hotel, a couple weeks after she left LA. I didn't know it then, but she was with Killian. I only found out about him when he was in the hospital. I saw everything on that end unfolding via magazines and wildly speculative talk show discussions."

Jane listened silently, understanding how difficult a position Mary Margaret had been in and how suffocating it was to feel helpless while someone you cared about was torn apart by the world's media. Mary Margaret sighed again and Jane could envision her pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration when she spoke again.

"What can we do to help them? People need to know the truth, but it isn't our place to tell them."

Jane chewed on her bottom lip and she could practically hear the cogs turning in Mary Margaret's mind over five thousand miles away. It was a few moments before she answered, but when she did, Jane recognized the quiet determination in her voice that she herself had had over the last few months. The same determination that had pushed her to exhaust every avenue in an attempt to reach Emma. And now she was finally getting somewhere.

"I have an idea."

* * *

_CS_

* * *

Killian wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up being talked into an impromptu flight to the other side of the world. But somehow, that's exactly what had happened.

Just a few hours earlier, he'd been sat in his room at the hotel, admittedly feeling a little sorry for himself as he'd nursed his battered nose and bruised confidence. Now? Well, now he was sat in the Departures lounge of Heathrow airport, waiting to board his very-last-minute flight to Los Angeles.

He'd never been to LA. And he'd never really had any inclination to either, the glitz and glamor of Hollywood never really holding much appeal for him. But he wasn't going for the sightseeing or star-spotting. There was one reason and one reason alone that he'd agreed to drop everything (not that he had anything to actually drop) and board the next London-LA flight.

Emma Swan.

Jane had marched into his room a little while after he'd returned from the disastrous supermarket trip, but he'd kept his back to her, silently signaling that he didn't want to talk. She ignored that though, and he quickly forgot his resolution to give her the silent treatment when she spoke.

"You're going to Los Angeles. Pack a bag. I just booked your flight."

"You did what now?"

Killian spun round, his stare incredulous, but Jane simply canted her head toward his closet and folded her arms, her stance brooking no argument.

"Just pack some stuff. This isn't a negotiation. I'm not letting all of this go on any longer, Killian. She's miserable, you're miserable, and no one knows the truth. I won't watch you drown again the way you did after Milah. You have a chance here, and sitting staring out of your window all day, every day isn't gonna fix anything."

Killian stared at her, completely at a loss for words. He had no idea how she'd managed to set it up, but before he could formulate the dozen or so questions flying through his head, he was moving to his closet on autopilot. He packed a small case, Jane leaning against the wall and watching him quietly as he did so, and eventually he turned back to her.

"How did you do it? How did you get through to her?"

His voice was soft, an edge of admiration to it that Jane acknowledged with a tight smile.

"The wonders of the internet, little brother. Nobody is inaccessible these days."

Killian rolled his eyes, snorting at how much like Liam she sounded sometimes and telling her so. Her smile turned warmer then and she regarded him affectionately, pulling him into a hug and sighing wearly.

"You've had enough sadness and loss in your life, Killy. I couldn't sit by and do nothing. You lit up when you were with that girl. I know you haven't tried to contact her, but I can't watch you throw away a second chance here. So I went and did what any pushy sister would do for your own good. I got hold of Emma's sister."

Surprise once again creased Killian's forehead and Jane could tell that such a tactic hadn't even occurred to him. He knew about Emma's sister, and from all the stories she'd told him he knew they were close. But Emma had made her stance pretty clear when she left, he thought. Their chapter was over. She may not have wanted to go, but she'd had to. And a long-distance thing wasn't something either of them would have been able to stand for very long. Especially considering all the controversy surrounding their relationship thanks to the malicious lies Neal had circulated. It would have all been too much.

"Are you sure this is what Emma will want?"

Killian hesitated, the idea of Emma rejecting him when he showed up on her doorstep with his heart in his hands was enough to sober him of the entire idea. Jane pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him, her signature expression that warned him not to even attempt going down that path.

"Yes. I'm sure. And so is her sister. So Liam is gonna drive you down to Heathrow, you're gonna get on that flight, and Mary Margaret is going to meet you at the airport when you get there. Then you're gonna sort out all of this shit, and be bloody happy again, Killian. Do you hear me?"

Killian nodded, knowing Jane's tone well enough to know that arguing would be futile. He'd go, and he'd simply hope he wasn't making yet another giant mistake. So, grabbing his hurriedly-packed bag and accepting the passport Jane handed him, he followed her back toward the lobby where Liam was waiting for him. Silently following his brother out to the car, Killian felt as though he was probably going to wake up at any moment and realize not a single thing had actually changed, and that Jane's whole plan was just something his desperate imagination had conjured up in his sleep.

But it wasn't a dream. And after Liam had dropped him off at the airport, with a firm hug and a hoarse encouragement of, 'go get her, little brother', Killian fumbled through check-in and security, still in somewhat of a daze. He sat in the Departure Lounge playing out in his mind all the different scenarios of seeing Emma again. He'd tortured himself with such fantasies everyday since she'd left. But this was different. He was really going to see her again this time. And any number of the scenarios he'd conjured up – good and bad – could come to pass.

The thought of her being less than happy to see him had anxiety flaring in his gut but he quickly squashed it. He had a long flight ahead of him and he knew that anxiously obsessing over what-ifs was only going to make it feel longer. So once he'd boarded the flight, he kept his head down and studiously avoided small talk with his neighbor, intent on drawing as little attention to himself as possible.

In the supermarket it had been relatively easy to remove himself from the situation, but on an airplane it was a whole different game and he hated the idea of suffering through an eleven hour flight feeling disgusted glares trained on him. Luckily, no one seemed to recognize him, and if they did they kept it to themselves, which he was eternally thankful for. He slept in fits and starts throughout the flight, punctuating it with half-hearted attempts to work his way through the movie offerings.

Eventually, he pilot announced their descent into Los Angeles, and he felt a rush of adrenaline. He was a matter of a few short miles away from Emma now. He wasn't sure if she was aware of his trip – he guessed she probably wasn't – but the idea of her being so close now was intoxicating.

Walking through Arrivals and collecting his luggage, Killian felt almost drunk with a mixture of apprehension and impatience, his entire being aching to once again, finally, be stood in front of the woman who had stolen his heart. He knew it probably wouldn't be that straightforward but he didn't care. He'd patiently survived months without her, stuck on the other side of the world. Now, they were in the same city again, and he felt like he could finally breathe again.

Mary Margaret was waiting for him, as promised. She didn't carry a sign, and he was grateful she'd been smart enough to forgo one. Instead, she stood back from the hoard of drivers with placards and enthusiastic family members greeting other passengers, waiting inconspicuously for him to recognize her as she met his gaze.

He made his way over to her, relieved that no one was even throwing a sidelong glance in his direction, and offered her a somewhat nervous smile.

"Hi...uh...Killian Jones, ma'am. Glad to meet you. Emma spoke very fondly of you."

She smiled warmly at him and nodded, gesturing for him to follow her toward the exit. She finally spoke once they were outside, the warm breeze of early evening in Los Angeles feeling like a welcoming, gentle caress against his face.

"I'm so happy you decided to make the trip, Killian. Emma...she's been working herself into the ground and trying pretty damn hard to convince everyone she's fine. But she isn't. I know her, and...well, I've never known her to be quite so affected by someone's absence before. She cares about you very much. I'm-...I'm sorry for what happened with Neal. He's despicable for what he's put you both through."

Killian grimaced and nodded in agreement as a car pulled up in front of them, Mary Margaret immediately popping the trunk and gesturing for him to toss his luggage in. As they pulled away from the airport, the keen air conditioning inside the car prickling on his skin, Mary Margaret once again turned to face him from the front seat.

"I know I've said it already, but I'm glad you came. Emma doesn't know about this, but she's going to be so happy to see you."

He managed a small smile, still apprehensive about showing up and turning her world upside down again, especially when she'd clearly been working so hard to get back on her feet.

"I hope you're right," he said softly, looking blankly out of the window, "So...what's the plan?"

* * *

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for Neal being an abusive douchewaffle.  
> Also, I've included pictures of Emma's house at the end of the chapter, because I personally love having visuals to go along with house descriptions in particular.

It was supposed to be a quiet Thursday evening for Emma. She was supposed to wrap herself in a blanket in front of the TV, a steaming cup of hot chocolate with cinnamon at the ready, and lose herself in Shondaland. She certainly wasn't meant to have her douchebag of an ex-boyfriend hammering on her door, clearly drunk and yelling her name for all of Los Feliz to hear. But that's exactly what was happening.

It had started out with a civil ringing of the doorbell, and Emma had absently wondered who had dared to drop by unannounced right before Grey's Anatomy started. Switching on the porch and hallway lights, she approached the door and peered through the peephole...and her stomach immediately dropped.

Neal was quite clearly drunk off his ass, swaying and gripping the door frame to help him stay upright. When the light came on he grumbled loudly and slurred out Emma's name, thumping his fist against the heavy oak door. On the other side, Emma stepped back, arms folded with a scowl on her face. She was in no mood for this, especially not while he was intoxicated. She knew he got extra mouthy and lost his temper much faster when drunk, and she simply didn't have the energy or inclination to deal with it.

"Go away, Neal. I don't wanna hear it. Just leave me alone."

She called through the door. For a moment she was met by silence, but then he thumped on the door again, attempting to cajole her into opening the door. When she didn't respond and the door remained firmly shut, he pounded against it harder, his tone growing harsher and louder the longer his demands were ignored.

"Babe, just fucking lemme in. We needatalk."

He was slurring and rattling the door, punctuating it with the dull thuds of his fist against the wood. Again, long moments passed and she could almost feel his irritation mounting through the oak barrier between them. After a tense silence, he yelled her name angrily and she gave a start, stepping further back, as though his drunken state could somehow miraculously afford him a burst of strength that would have him smashing through the door. She knew that was ridiculous, but the man was persistent.

"Emma, I swear to  _fucking_  God you better open this fucking door 'fore I smash it down!"

He yelled venomously, and despite the fact that she knew her house was safe, his threats still had her heart beating that little bit faster. She snatched her phone up from the dresser in the hallway but before she had the chance to hit call and summon the police, she heard her car alarm beginning to screech from the driveway. Her blood ran cold and, with the phone still gripped in her hand, she ran through to the kitchen, peering out of the window to see him sloppily swinging the garden hoe she assumed he'd grabbed from around the side of the house where her gardener, Sarah, usually left her equipment, and watched in horror as he smashed the car's windows.

With shaking hands, she hit call and kept her eyes glued on Neal as he subjected her car to more damage, the dialtone in her ear seeming to go on forever before an operator finally answered.

"911 what is your emergency?"

"Hi, I need help- I...uh...my ex-boyfriend is smashing up my car. He's drunk and threatening me. I need you to send someone to 4447 Cromwell Avenue, Los Feliz, 90027. Please. Please, just...send someone right away. He's...he's hurt me before and he's scaring me."

The woman on the other end of the line immediately ran it through to dispatch and was calm and reassuring as she informed Emma that the police were on their way. She thanked the woman and declined her offer to stay on the line until the cops arrived. Once she'd hung up, Emma edged toward the front door. Neal had done a pretty stellar job of destroying her car by the sounds of things and she made a mental note to be pissed about that tomorrow, once she was over the initial shock. Thankfully, her beloved Bug was parked in the garage round the back of the property, protected from Neal's temper, but she didn't exactly welcome her Kia SUV being smashed to oblivion.

Hesitantly peering through the peephole again, she saw him moving back toward the door, garden hoe still in-hand as he staggered up the porch steps. Instinctively, Emma stepped away from the door once again, heart racing as she heard the unmistakable sound of the wood hitting wood.

"Stop it, Neal! Christ, just stop it! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

She yelled, cursing the edge of fear she could hear in her own voice. The banging stopped and she held her breath as silence descended for endless seconds.

"You don't get to leave me, you little bitch. I made you. I fucking _made_ you. And then you go and skip town to shack up with some accented prick and make me look like an idiot? No. You do not get to do that to me. OPEN THE DOOR."

Emma was half-tempted to throw open the door and give him a piece of her mind, her blood thrumming with anger at his words. She'd been doing her utmost not to think of Killian. As fruitless as that endeavor was, it was the only way she'd been able to carry on and overcome the urge to jump on a direct flight back to England. But hearing Neal badmouth him had her clenching her fists at her side and gritting teeth, holding back the vicious retorts she was so tempted to hurl at him.

He'd always treated her like a possession, and she'd been oblivious to it. She interpreted his possessive streak as him being protective of her. But she was an asset to him and that's why he'd kept her close; it was becoming clearer with every desperate attempt he'd made to get her back. When asking nicely and attempting to sweet-talk her back had fallen flat, he'd dropped the charade and let his real colors show.

After long minutes of silence, every muscle in Emma's body tense as she kept her eyes glued to the front door, a shiver slithered up her spine and she frowned. He'd been awfully quiet for a while considering his earlier shrieking. Walking through the archway leading to her living room, she stopped dead, tendrils of fear curling sharply in her chest and lodging in her throat as she made eye contact with Neal through the glass double doors that looked out over her enclosed patio and veranda.

Despite demanding that he returned his copy of her house keys, and having her lawyer accompany Mary Margaret when she went to retrieve them, he was still familiar enough with the property that he knew its weak spots. He knew where it was easiest to scale the wall, and he'd utilized his intimate knowledge of Emma's space to take her off guard. The only thing disadvantaging him was his state of inebriation. He was unsteady on his feet and it had taken him a number of attempts to clamber around bushes and snake along the white stucco wall in order to reach a section of it that was low enough for him to pull himself up and over. He'd then stumbled across the patio and over to the glass doors leading into her living room.

Backing out of the living room and praying she'd remembered to lock the doors, Emma could feel her fight or flight response kicking into high gear, adrenaline surging through her body and panic making her chest tighten. He'd seemingly dropped the garden hoe but she didn't want to risk him losing his temper again once inside the house. She raced up the stairs, bare feet slipping slightly on the Spanish tiles. Slamming and locking her bedroom door behind her, she ran over to her balcony and threw the glass doors open. The balcony overlooked the front of the property and gave her ample view down the curved driveway. A wave of relief washed over her as she saw the police car making it's way up the hill but she waited until they finally pulled up outside the house before tentatively making her way back down the stairs.

She was reaching out to yank the door open when Neal suddenly appeared beside her and grabbed her wrist.

"You called the fucking cops on me, you little whore."

Emma yelped in surprise as he yanked her away from the door and back into the living room. Eyes wide, Emma fought to regain control of herself. She wouldn't let him see her fear, wouldn't give him that power over her. Defiantly, she lifted her chin and glared at him coldly.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna get a restraining order on you after this. I'm not scared of you, N-"

"Well you should be," Neal snarled, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath as he grabbed her face with one hand, squeezing with clear intent, "I'll ruin you, Emma Swan. Nobody makes me look like a fool, especially not a damaged little girl like you."

Before Emma even had chance to reply, the front door burst open and two cops were dragging him away from her in an instant. One reeled off his rights and cuffed him as the other approached her carefully and asked her if she was alright. The blood was rushing in her ears and she felt sick to the stomach, but she nodded numbly. The woman gently informed her that she'd need a statement, and Emma nodded again, watching as Neal was taken out and shoved into the back of the police car. He threw her one last smirk before he was safely contained inside the vehicle and Emma turned on shaky legs to face the policewoman.

"I need to call my sister."

* * *

_CS_

* * *

"Emma, hi- what? Whoa, slow down...wait,  _what?_  What do you mean he broke in?! Emma, are you okay?!"

Killian's ears pricked up the second he heard Mary Margaret say Emma's name from the next room as she answered her cell phone. But as he listened, his blood ran cold. He assumed the 'he' Mary Margaret referred to was Neal, and the idea of her being alone in her house when her crazy ex boyfriend broke in, a man who had hurt Emma in numerous ways and made Killian a pariah in his own country, had his heart racing with panic.

He strode into the living room, where Mary Margaret sat perched tensely on the edge of the sofa, chewing on her thumbnail, her eyes wide with worry. He didn't say a word, but when she lifted her eyes to meet his, she knew he'd overheard and didn't bother to try and mask her concern. Killian stood rooted to the spot, piecing together what had happened from only one side of the conversation.

"And the police are there with you now? You're safe?" A brief pause and then a slight flash of relief on her face barely eased Killian's mind, "Good. Has he gone? I really do think a restraining order is the best option now, Emma. I know you were hoping he'd have enough sense to leave you well enough alone but that clearly isn't the case...yes, I figured he was drunk...well, good, I'm glad they're going to throw a DUI at him as well. He deserves it. Look, I'm going to head over right now, and perhaps I should stay tonight...no, it's no inconvenience, don't be ridiculous. You shouldn't be there alone."

After a few more reassuring words, Mary Margaret ended the call and sighed wearily. Killian, by this point, had perched on the comfy chair facing her, and anxiously waited for a full explanation.

"Neal turned up at her place, drunk out of his stupid mind, and hurled abuse at her before breaking in through the backyard and threatening her. The police are there with her now and he's been dealt with. She's shaken up, as you can imagine, but she's okay."

Her voice was surprisingly even, but Killian could hear the strain behind it. He clenched his jaw and fought the urge to punch something. But he knew that wouldn't help, and he'd more than likely end up in a cast again, which he really didn't fancy considering he hadn't long since gotten rid of the first one. So, instead, he simply dug crescents into his palm with his nails and swallowed the fury that was sticking thick in his throat.

"Please tell me they're gonna throw the book at that bastard. He's put her through hell."

He all but growled and Mary Margaret nodded, scrubbing a hand across her face tiredly and standing up.

"They are, and I'll make sure of it. So will Emma. He won't get away with it, not this time. I'm going to go over there, stay the night and make sure she's alright."

Killian nodded and opened his mouth, but Mary Margaret seemed to know what he was going to say and shook her head firmly.

"No, Killian. You stay here. I'll let you know she's okay but now isn't the right time for you to appear back in her life. She's had a rough night and doesn't need anything more to process right now. I know you want to be there for her, but this is for the best. Just a few more days, I promise. Be patient."

Killian clenched his jaw again but eventually nodded. He knew she was right. Emma didn't need to deal with the emotional impact of seeing him again right on the back of a stand-off with her psycho ex-boyfriend. He didn't want that to be what she remembered about their reunion either. So he sagged back in the comfy chair and tried to reassure himself that Emma was alright now, and Neal was safely in custody.

A few minutes later, Mary Margaret called out to let him know she was leaving, the front door slamming after her, and Killian slumped even further down into the chair and flipped on the TV to see a live news story was already reporting from in front of Emma's house. The runner along the bottom of the screen gave a brief headline informing him, 'POLICE CALLED TO DOMESTIC SITUATION AT SINGER-SONGWRITER EMMA SWAN'S LOS FELIZ RESIDENCE'.

He immediately shut off the TV and scowled at the blank screen, anger and frustration swelling in his gut. He hated feeling useless and unable to comfort the woman he loved when she was just across town. If possible, it was even harder than being on the opposite side of the world.

* * *

_CS_

* * *

By the time Mary Margaret arrived at Emma's house, a throng of paparazzi and news channel reporters had already amassed out front. They clogged up the driveway and those that even bothered to acknowledge her attempting to pull up, blaring her horn and revving the ignition, simply turned to stare at her blankly before shuffling a few feet to avoid being run down.

Cursing under her breath, she edged through the crowd of vultures with their camera and sound equipment and threw the car into park. Shoving past a handful of reporters who pushed cameras and microphones into her face once they recogized her, she didn't even bother with 'no comment', opting to ignore them completely.

Pulling out her spare key, she made quick work of opening the door as little as possible and slipping inside. She wasn't about to give them a chance to sneak some pictures through an open front door. She was too well-versed with their antics to make that mistake.

"Emma? It's me, are you-...hey..."

Mary Margaret had walked into the living room and caught sight of Emma sitting with a young policewoman, who rose to stand and offered her a sympathetic smile. Emma remained seated, hands knotted in her lap and her shoulders slumped, an unreadable expression on her face. It unsettled Mary Margaret and she recalled her sister wearing that exact same expression when she'd first returned from England. Defeat and hopelessness, that's what it was.

"Thank you for the statement, Ms. Swan. If we need anything else, we'll be in touch, but this should be a pretty simple case. If you choose to press charges – and I'm not supposed to say this but I personally would urge you to do so – then he's looking at multiple counts. DUI, attempted aggravated assault, harassment, disorderly conduct, vandalism. He's looking at years in prison..."

She excused herself then, and Mary Margaret moved to sit beside Emma. She had the start of an almighty headache beginning to press insistently against her temples, so she could only imagine how Emma was feeling.

"You should take a hot bath and try to get an early night."

Mary Margaret said softly, reaching out to place her hand over Emma's, which were still knotted in her lap. But she barely reacted. After long moments of silence, punctuated only by the muted chatter of lingering reporters talking to their cameras outside, Emma sighed.

"I'm done."

She said softly, her voice so quiet that her sister almost missed it.

"I know. He's a terrible person, Emma. What he's put you through-"

"No. I mean, I'm  _done_. With all of it. My career, living here, everything. I'm done. I need to get out."

Mary Margaret sat in stunned silence for a moment. No matter how bad things had been when she'd returned from England, her broken heart still an open wound that the world's media gleefully feasted on, she'd never mentioned quitting as an option. Quite the opposite – she'd thrown herself headfirst into her work, practically living in the studio and churning out song after song until Mary Margaret had serious concerns about her exhausting herself.

"Emma..."

She started softly, but Emma shook her head and stood up, heading toward the hallway. She stopped in the archway and sighed, addressing her sister over her shoulder without looking back, her voice void of any emotion.

"I'll do the Hollywood Bowl performance on Saturday night, and I'll make the announcement after my encore that it'll be my last. You can start cancelling all the interviews and appearances from tomorrow. Goodnight."

* * *

 

 

([For more pictures of Emma's home, click here.](https://www.redfin.com/CA/Los-Angeles/4447-Cromwell-Ave-90027/home/7133186))


	22. Chapter 22

"What do you mean she wants to  _quit_?"

Mary Margaret sighed, the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she pulled open the balcony doors of Emma's guest room and welcomed the pleasant shiver from the fresh morning air. When she'd retired to her room shortly after Emma the night before, still reeling from her sister's decision and the finality in her tone, she'd been unable to sleep. She'd known that calling David or Killian wasn't an option – they both cared so deeply about Emma and she knew that nothing would have stopped them from coming over to try and help in some way.

But she also knew that seeing Killian while she was dealing with so many warring emotions, drained from the confrontation with Neal, would not have been helpful. Which was why she'd already devised the ideal reunion, with some input from Killian, and she wasn't about to let Neal spoil that. He'd already tainted the job that Emma had once loved so much, and Mary Margaret could only hope that being reunited with Killian would help reignite the love she had for her work.

So she'd waited until the next morning to call Killian and fill him in on everything that had happened. She'd been able to sense the quiet fury reverberating down the line when she'd told him the full story, but he'd been stunned into silence when she'd revealed Emma's intentions.

"I mean, she wants to end her career. The show on Saturday...she's planning for that to be her last. I suspect that she's also planning to head back to England to see you once the chaos surrounding her announcement has died down, but she didn't say it in so many words..."

There was a long beat of silence before Killian finally spoke again.

"She's not quitting because of me though, is she? I couldn't bear to be the reason why she wants to leave the life she's built for herself. She's worked so hard-"

Mary Margaret cut him off, shaking her head despite the fact that he couldn't see her.

"No, no, you're not the only reason her work has lost it's shine for her, Killian, I assure you. If anything,  _all_ of this is Neal's fault. He's the one who put her through hell for falling in love with someone else, someone who actually deserves her. He strong-armed her into breaking her own heart, and he's continued to emotionally hurt her since she returned. Mostly indirectly, until last night, but it's still been wearing her down. I can't blame her for wanting to leave. I only hope that she'll change her mind when she sees you."

Emma had gone for a morning run according to the note she'd left on the kitchen counter, so Mary Margaret could speak freely without worrying that her sister would overhear. As she spoke to Killian, she made her way down to the kitchen and flicked on the Keurig, brewing herself some coffee and leaning against the counter with a weary sigh. Killian mirrored her sigh and she could hear the frustration in his voice.

"I know why I have to wait, and that now isn't the best time for me to show up unannounced, but I sincerely wish I could be there for her. In some ways, it's harder being just across town instead of a world away, and still not being able to  _do_  anything."

"I know, Killian. I know. I hate seeing her this way and not knowing how to help her. She's good at putting on a front but I always know when something's off with her, and she hasn't been herself for months. I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised that she's come to the conclusion that quitting is the answer. She's never courted publicity, so all of this...she struggles with how to handle their prying. It was always her weak spot. And Neal shielded her from it, to a certain extent. Now, he's the one dragging her into the spotlight and essentially feeding her to the wolves that he  _knows_  she's terrified of. I don't use the word 'hate' lightly, but right now I absolutely hate him for what he's doing to her."

It was at that moment that Mary Margaret heard the front door and looked up to see Emma, still out of breath from her run, appear through the archway. She offered her sister a tight smile and made a beeline for the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of green juice and heading over to the sofa in the adjoining living room. Thankfully, the media had eventually dispersed the night before when they realized they weren't going to get any kind of statement or soundbite from anyone inside the house, so Emma seemed a little more at ease than she previously had been.

"Emma just got back, so I'm gonna go. I'll see you in a bit."

Mary Margaret said carefully, trying to keep her voice light so as not to arouse Emma's suspicions. After she'd hung up, Emma glanced over at her.

"David?"

She asked, and Mary Margaret nodded, grabbing her coffee and joining Emma on the sofa.

"Yeah, he's worried about you. We all are. But, Emma-"

"It's not up for negotiation, alright? I've made my decision; I slept on it, like you always tell me to, and I haven't changed my mind. I need to get out."

Mary Margaret chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, slowly taking a sip of her coffee before she chose her words carefully.

"And...'getting out'...would that, by any chance, involve going back to England?"

Emma's cheeks flushed and she turned her gaze down to the juice bottle in her hands, clearly frustrated by how easily her sister could read her. She didn't answer right away, but her shoulders sagged and she sighed.

"I miss him," she admitted softly, "I know I've just...not talked about it, but I do. When I was out there, with him, I felt like I didn't have to be anyone but myself. And he made me feel like that was enough. I didn't need to be 'popstar Emma' with him, I could just be...me. I want that feeling back."

Mary Margaret nodded in understanding, feeling even more sure now that she had done the right thing by bringing Killian over.

"But what if you could have both? Killian and your career. You don't have to  _choose_ , Emma."

"I do, though. His life is over there, and mine's over here right now. Plus the whole 'trial by media' thing – Neal turned the whole damn world against him. I can't put him through all of that. He didn't ask for any of it."

Emma stood up then, walking over to the glass doors looking out onto the patio, and staring out blankly. She was clearly thinking about Killian and Mary Margaret was sorely tempted to tell her there and then that Killian was in town, to reassure her that he  _wanted_  to be there for her, media be damned. But she held back, knowing that throwing such a revelation on her sister out of left field wouldn't be fair.

"I'm pretty sure if it meant you got to be together, he'd be more than willing to try, Emma. I don't think he has any delusions. He knows it'll be hard, these things always are, but some things are worth it.  _Love_ is worth it."

Emma narrowed her eyes, and Mary Margaret froze. She folded her arms and turned away from the glass doors to face her sister.

"You've been talking to him, haven't you?"

She accused, but there was no anger in her tone, her voice soft and somewhat pained. Mary Margaret had never been very good at lying, especially to Emma, so she dropped her gaze to her rapidly cooling coffee, sighing with defeat in a way she hoped was convincing.

"Once. When you came back. I just...I wanted to make sure he was okay, Emma. You clearly cared very deeply for him but you wouldn't talk about him. I knew you wouldn't call him, when you were trying so hard not to even think about him. So I...called the hotel and asked after him, asked how he was doing. I spoke to Jane. That's all. I'm sorry if you think I overstepped-"

"How was he?"

She asked quietly, her voice barely there, tears in her eyes. Mary Margaret felt a stab of guilt for lying to her sister but she knew it was for the best so she simply offered her a weak smile. Standing up, she moved to pull Emma into a hug.

"He'll be alright as long as he thinks you will be."

* * *

_CS_

* * *

Emma had deliberated all morning about how to break the news to her band members that the show the following day would be their last together. She'd instructed Mary Margaret to use her connections and find them new jobs with other artists, but she knew they'd still be devastated with the news. They'd all been with her since the start. They weren't just her band, they were her  _friends_  now. Especially Graham. She knew it was going to be particularly tough on him.

As she arrived at the studio where they had a final studio soundcheck rehearsal scheduled ahead of the venue soundcheck and then the concert the following night, Graham seemed to sense something was going on. She brushed it off, not wanting to have to break the news twice, and instead pushed on with the rehearsal.

There were a few minor adjustments made, but the run-through went smoothly. She wasn't particularly nervous about the show, no more than the usual pre-show jitters, but knowing she was going to break her fans' hearts at the end of the show with her announcement was something she was starting to dread.

"Is it because of last night?"

Graham approached her as the rest of the band packed up their instruments. Emma gave a start and frowned in confusion.

"Is what because of last night?"

"You're distracted. It might not be so obvious to the others, but I  _know_ you, Emma...are you alright?"

Brushing off his concern, she assured him she was fine, but beckoned the others over before they disappeared.

"There's something I need to tell you guys. And...I need you not to all panic. Because I'm gonna make it as smooth for you as I can..."

Her keyboard player, Lily, groaned.

"Please tell me you're not gonna add a song in last minute. You know I wanted to kill you the last time we played the Bowl and you changed the damn setlist the night before."

Jefferson, still packing away his drumsticks, murmured his agreement and Emma smiled ruefully, shaking her head and noting the resulting relief on the rest of the band's faces.

"No, I'm not changing the setlist. It sounds perfect, it flows great. It's nothing to do with the show. Well...I suppose it is...because tomorrow night...it's gonna be my last performance."

She was met by stunned silence, the blank faces staring back at her seeming unable to comprehend the magnitude of what she'd just told them. They exchanged dazed looks, before a devastated Graham stepped forward.

"Emma...please don't do this. You don't have to do this..."

She could feel the tears stinging her eyes and she tried to blink them away, shaking her head and swallowing the lump in her throat before she managed to speak again.

"I do, Graham. I'm sorry. I do have to do this. But Mary Margaret is gonna find you new jobs, none of you will be out of work, I promise. You'll continue to be paid as well, until she finds you someone else."

"We don't want to work for anyone else, Emma. We want to work for  _you_. Did Neal make you do this?"

She could hear the anger in Tink's voice and smiled sadly. Her violinist was a marvel, and so passionate about her love for the music. She'd been with Emma since her very first show and Emma had known, even back then, that she would be a loyal member of her team.

"It's not Neal. It's...Killian, right? You're leaving town, aren't you?"

The sadness in Graham's voice didn't escape her, and she broke away from his gaze before the sorrow in his eyes broke her down. Slowly nodding, she was met once again with silence. They all respected her decision, and the fact that she was doing it for love, but it was still painful to know their journey with her was over, and that she was ending her career by choice just as she was reaching her peak. They knew some things were more important than money and fame though, and that real, true love was not something she was willing to turn her back on anymore. She'd sacrificed it once, but now she had a second chance, and she knew that Killian could make her happy in ways that an isolated life of fame never could, no matter how much money it brought her.

* * *

_CS_

* * *

"Emma...you ready?"

Showtime. Standing beneath the stage, glitzed microphone clutched tightly in her slightly clammy palm, she took a steadying breath as her heart fluttered with those familiar pre-show nerves. She found them comforting now, the jitters that had her pulse thrumming madly. The adrenaline rush from performing never seemed to get old.

As much as she hated the fame that came as part and parcel of having a successful music career, the actual music was still something she loved dearly. She loved getting lost in it, the roar of the crowd on the edge of her peripheries as the beats of her songs buzzed along her skin. And seeing words she'd written being sung back at her by her fans, clinging to the front barriers and watching her, awe-struck and adoring, was something she treasured too. Writing songs was cathartic for her, and she saw that reflected back in her fans when her song lyrics struck a chord with them, when a particular line in a particular song became something they clung to, simply because they knew someone else had felt the same as they did at some point.

"Emma, back in the room. Are you ready?"

The musical director snapped his fingers in front of her face and frowned at her as she smiled sheepishly. She'd zoned out for a moment and she needed to focus. They were about to hoist her up through the floor of the stage, to present her to 17,500 screaming fans in the sold-out amphitheater, and she was off in her own world.

"Sorry, yeah. I'm good."

She confirmed, shaking her arms and taking a few deep breaths, plastering on her smile and looking up, ready for lift-off. As the trap-door slid open above her and the technical people were given the signal to raise her up, Emma heard the intro beats of her first song start and gritted her teeth. Moments later, she was on the stage, the oppressive heat of hundreds of stage lights and the deafening roar of almost twenty thousand people's screams washing over her.

She yelled a compulsory 'good evening, Los Angeles!' and the crowd roared back in response. She was then  _supposed_  to introduce her first song by belting out the opening line. But instead, she waved her hand, signalling for the band to cut the music. Lily shot her a pointed glance of 'I'm seriously gonna murder you during the break' and she could hear her furious musical director telling her to stick to the setlist, but she simply pulled out her earpiece.

"Los Angeles, I'm gonna go a little off-script here. It's been a bit of a rollercoaster for me, these past few months. Most of you know what I'm talking about, I'm sure. And since I've been back, I've been working day and night putting a new album together for you all. A few songs though...I debated for a long time with myself, whether or not I should include them on the album. I'm baring my soul with those particular songs. And it's scary..."

She scanned the faces in the crowd, all seemingly transfixed by her words, and swallowed hard, walking further across the stage and lifting her chin, determined to finish without any tears falling. And then she continued.

"These songs...they're like...my diary, I suppose. And I wasn't very willing to put them out there at first. But I want you to have them. I've spent too long bottling a lot of things up, running from things – from people – that I shouldn't have. And there's been plenty people thinking they know my story, after hearing a fabricated version from someone who only wanted to hurt me. Well...tonight I'm going to tell you the truth. The first song I'm going to sing...is called Lilac Wine."

At the edge of her vision she saw Lily exchange a glance with Jefferson as they began to thumb through their sheet music for that particular song. It wasn't on the original setlist, but the sheet music was still in their books, luckily.

"Lilac Wine was the first song I wrote when I came back from a trip to England...where I met someone who changed my life. He taught me what love  _should_ feel like, and how intoxicating and incredible it can be. But sometimes...it doesn't work out, because other people get in the way. Sometimes, people go and take a beautiful thing like love and twist it around, turning into something ugly and poisonous. That's what Lilac Wine is about. Because, as sweet as it tastes, wine from a lilac tree...it kills you."

Lily took that as her cue and began the opening notes of a song they'd only practiced in the studio a handful of times. Emma's eyes fell shut as the hauntingly mellow beat cocooned her and the words began to fall from her lips effortlessly.

_"I lost myself on a cool damp night, gave myself in that misty light, was hypnotized by a strange delight, under a lilac tree. I made wine from the lilac tree, put my heart in its recipe. It makes me see what I want to see, and be what I want to be. When I think more than I want to think, do things I never should do, I drink much more than I ought to drink...because it brings me back you..."_

The beat changed as the song moved into the chorus and Emma realized she was swaying, seemingly hypnotized by her own music as the words continued to pour from her.

_"Lilac wine is sweet and heady, like my love. Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, like my love. Listen to me... I cannot see clearly-"_

As Emma's eyes fluttered open, her breath catching in her throat and her heart stuttering as she found herself staring out into the audience...and straight into Killian's eyes.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lilac Wine was originally written by Jeff Buckley, but go check out the hauntingly beautiful cover of it on YouTube by Miley Cyrus. That's the version I used here. And now you finally know why I titled this fic the way I did!


	23. Chapter 23

Killian had never been so nervous in all his life.

Mary Margaret had been very military about the 'plan', briefing him as though he was about to be deployed on some top secret government mission, rather than springing a surprise reunion on her sister. But, as it turned out, a concert the size of Emma's  _was_  planned and executed with military precision. When he arrived, there was organized chaos everywhere. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they had to be and what their jobs were, and they barely afforded Killian a second glance as Mary Margaret ushered him to a backstage room via a maze of hallways.

He was well and truly lost by the time they reached his 'holding area', as he'd mentally labelled the box room with no windows but a year's supply of sparkling water in a full-to-bursting mini-fridge. He settled down onto the sofa and listened as Mary Margaret once again ran through the plan. He bit back a smile, not wanting her to think he was taking any of it lightly, but he couldn't help but find her fussing endearing. Once she'd gone through it all, she hurried out and promised him she'd be back later when it was time.

She was clearly used to the ins and outs of Emma's shows, but he was somewhat awed by it all. There had to be hundreds of people working to bring such a huge production together, and he'd never really stopped to think about just how big of a deal Emma was in this world of hers that he'd stumbled into, and to her hundreds of thousands of fans. To him, she'd always just been Emma – clumsy, beautiful, passionate Emma. He'd fallen in love with all her broken parts that she hid from the rest of the world, and he'd tried to help her put them back together. But it had only made them both a little more broken than before, and they'd ended up hurting themselves on their sharp edges. He hoped that this time would be different.

He'd sat and waited patiently, knees bouncing and fingers drumming against the arm of the sofa with nervous anticipation. He'd dreamed about seeing her again so many times, but none of the scenarios he'd dreamed up ever involved 17,500 witnesses. It was an added pressure he hadn't really taken into account when he'd devised the plan with Mary Margaret. All he'd been focused on then was seeing Emma again.

It felt like an eternity had passed by the time Mary Margaret appeared again but in reality it had been a little under two hours. He'd listened to the dull thud of the bass that seemed to reverberate through the very fabric of the building, and had tried to use that to follow the setlist Mary Margaret had left with him. He'd given up pretty quickly and resorted to strumming mindlessly on the guitar that had been left in the room for him. When Mary Margaret had returned he'd jumped up and eagerly followed her out, staying close on her heels for fear of being lost forever and swallowed whole by the endless maze of hallways she seemed to effortlessly navigate.

He could tell they were getting closer to the stage by the volume from both the music and the crowd. The bass was now vibrating in his chest, not just in the walls around him, and he could hear the sweet, melodic sound of Emma's voice as she started to sing. Hearing her voice again, knowing she was just a few hundred yards away now, had his pulse quickening and a thrill of excitement zipping up his spine. His palms had begun to sweat a little and he shook them off, taking deep, steadying breaths as Mary Margaret smiled warmly at him.

"Don't think about the crowd. Once you see her and she sees you, you'll forget they're even there. Focus on Emma."

He nodded as she led him through one more narrow hallway before they emerged just below the stage. She turned to face him then and squeezed his arm in what he knew was supposed to be a reassuring gesture, but he was too distracted knowing Emma was inches away from him now. With a murmured "good luck", she left him to return to her earlier place in the pit, and Killian listened to Emma singing a slow, mellow song on the stage above him. He knew the end of the song was his cue so he listened intently and chewed on his bottom lip, nerves making him jittery, as he ran through the plan in his head for the hundredth time that day.

* * *

_CS_

* * *

It wasn't him.

Emma blinked a few times and felt a heavy weight of disappointment settle low in her belly. She'd seen his face in strangers multiple times since she'd left him, and it never seemed to get easier. She managed to swallow the lump in her throat and continue the song, but the words she'd written left a bitter taste now. The guy on the front row whom she'd mistaken for Killian was beaming at her, and she forced a smile in response. From what she could see – which was limited considering the bright lights that were blinding her – no one seemed to have noticed her momentary lapse, and she was grateful for that small mercy.

Losing herself in the instrumental section, she tried to force Killian out of her mind again. She'd become rather proficient at that task if she concentrated hard enough, and she knew it was the only way she'd get through the rest of the show without any hiccups. But as the final few notes washed over her, and she opened her eyes, she realized with horror that she was crying. She hadn't even noticed, but she could feel the wetness on her cheeks and she glanced down at Mary Margaret, who was at the front of the pit area where she always stood for shows. Her sister looked pained and Emma turned away from the audience, making it seem to everyone else as though she was simply applauding her band, when really she was attempting to wipe away her tears as inconspicuously as possible, thanking every deity she could think of for the blessing of waterproof mascara and stage makeup.

She made sure her smile was back in place before turning back, and anticipated the beginning beats of the next song once the thunderous applause had started to die down. But the music didn't immediately start up again and she threw a confused glance to Lily, who simply smiled back at her...which only served to confuse her further. The audience was looking just as confused as she felt, when suddenly the sound system whistled.

"Hello, I-...uh, we're sorry for the interruption, but this is a public service announcement for Emma Swan."

There was stilted applause and cheers from the audience, who seemed to think the 'interruption' was a planned part of the show and that Emma's genuine confusion was simply an act. She found Mary Margaret's gaze, her heart racing as she resisted the urge to narrow her eyes at her sister the way she usually would when she realized the older woman was up to something. The voice had sounded exactly like Killian's, and Emma felt her stomach twist into knots. If this was all Mary Margaret's attempt at making her feel better somehow, having him record a voice message and playing it to the entire fucking world, then she was severely missing the mark.

There was a momentary pause, the audience hooting and cheering while Emma's heart raced with panic, not used to being in the dark about any aspect of her performances, before she noticed everyone's attention jumped to the big screens she knew were positioned on each side of the stage. Unfortunately, she was still nonthewiser, unable to see the screens herself from her position on the stage. The audience's cheering grew louder and she turned to try and find the source of their excitement.

And that's when she saw him.

Suddenly, the old cliché about the world seeming to disappear didn't seem so clichéd, because that was exactly how Emma felt when she met Killian's gaze across the stage. He was grinning at her, his nervousness palpable in the way he scratched behind his ear before sliding his guitar around from where it was strapped over his shoulder.

She knew she probably looked ridiculous with the way she was staring at him in open-mouthed shock, but she honestly didn't care. He was there. On her stage. Beginning to sing to her in front of more than seventeen thousand people. And this time, when the tears started to stream down her cheeks, she didn't bother to try and wipe them away.

_"Far away, I feel your beating heart. All alone, beneath the crystal stars, staring into space, what a lonely face. I'll try to find my place with you...What a beautiful smile, can I stay for awhile? On this beautiful night, we'll make everything right. My beautiful love, my beautiful love."_

She'd heard him sing before, once or twice, back at the hotel and on the boat, the first and only time they'd spent the night together. But that had been...different. This song...these were his words. And he was singing them to her. Though he'd started out nervous, as he strummed his guitar with practiced ease, the words started to flow effortlessly. Her eyes widened in surprise as she realized her band were also accompanying him now. They'd known. He'd planned this. Probably – or rather, definitely – with Mary Margaret's help.

_"Larger than the moon, my love for you. Worlds collide as heaven pulls us through. The secret of the world is written in the stars, I'm carrying your heart in mine. What a beautiful smile, can I stay for awhile? On this beautiful night, we'll make everything right. My beautiful love."_

He slowly started to make his way across the stage toward her then, eyes never leaving hers as he continued to sing, until he was standing before her, his eyes soft and full of so much love that she couldn't help the sob that fell from her lips. Her heart felt so full she was convinced it was going to spontaneously combust at any moment.

_"Maybe a greater thing will happen, maybe all will see. Maybe our love will catch like fire, as it burns through me. What a beautiful smile, can I stay for awhile? On this beautiful night, we'll make everything right. My beautiful love."_

The band died down, and the audience went crazy as Killian's hands stilled on the strings. He pushed his guitar out of the way, the strap enabling him to easily slide it behind him to rest on his back and allowing him to step closer to Emma, reaching out to tenderly wipe away her tears. She leaned into his touch, before his self-control seemingly snapped and he pulled her into his arms, lifting her up as she laughed through her happy tears.

He brought her down slightly, and she immediately took advantage of their closeness, pressing her lips to his and kissing him deeply, desperately needing him to know how happy she was to see him, how ecstatic she felt to be back in his arms, in a moment when she couldn't have formed words even if she'd tried.

The roar of the crowd's applause was deafening, but she was reluctant to break their kiss. When she finally did, she could feel the heat on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the stage lights and everything to do with the way Killian was looking at her like she was the most precious thing he'd ever been fortunate enough to find.

She knew she should disentangle herself from Killian's arms, but she simply couldn't bring herself to do so. Instead, she turned and smiled out at the audience. The first real smile she'd worn in months. She met Mary Margaret's gaze once again and saw her sister was crying...along with the entire front row.

With a trembling hand, Emma lifted her bejewelled microphone (which she was honestly surprised she hadn't dropped upon seeing Killian again), and took a shaky breath before addressing her audience.

"I can honestly say that this was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you guys. I'd like to introduce you all to Killian Jones...the man who stole my spotlight and my heart."

* * *

_CS_

* * *

After the show, she tugged him backstage to her dressing room, high on adrenaline and happiness. Most of their conversation was punctuated by laughter and stolen kisses, because neither could keep their hands to themselves after their time apart. She told him about her songs, the ones she wrote about him, including the ones that she'd never shared with anyone else. He told her about being punched by a stranger - but he tried to inject as much humor into that tale as possible, not wanting to cast a pall on their joyous reunion. And, of course, she asked him about the song he gatecrashed her show with  _(the song they'll later record together as a duet that will skyrocket to number one for weeks on end)._

When Mary Margaret popped her head around the door, a soft smile on her face as she saw the two sat together on Emma's sofa, her sister curled into Killian's side, she was reluctant to pull them out of their bubble. But the security guys were getting quite persistent about clearing the venue and she couldn't put them off much longer.

For the first time in months, Emma didn't feel a sense of dread settle over her as she arrived back at her house. With Killian by her side, her hand clasped firmly in his, she felt nothing but contentment, a sense of finally being  _home_  that she knew had nothing to do with the house itself  _(but it isn't until she's walking through the door two weeks later, carrying a box of his records, Killian in tow with two boxes of his clothes balanced in his arms, that it truly, completely feels like home)._

She fetched them some drinks and they tucked themselves up on the sofa, touching and talking well into the early hours. Killian filled her in on exactly how he'd come to be there. He told her of Mary Margaret and Jane's scheming, and then his own, kissing away her tears and gently tugging blonde curls through his fingers as he held her close. She told him about her ordeal with Neal, even though he'd seen most of it played out on the TV anyway, and then moved the conversation back to happier topics. They talked about going back to the hotel, so that Emma could thank Jane in person for her meddling that had brought Killian back into her life.  _(They end up deciding to spend every other Christmas with Liam and Jane - and later Killian's niece and nephew too. Their first Christmas, he gives her a small, perfectly wrapped box with a simple but exquisite diamond ring inside. Their second Christmas, she gives him a slightly bigger, not-so-perfectly wrapped box with a white stick and two pink lines inside.)_

They fell into bed around 4am, arms and legs tangled together, too exhausted to even undress. And for the first time in months, they both fell asleep easily, waking late the next morning in the exact same position they'd fallen asleep in. Despite her protests, Killian slipped out of bed to make them breakfast - _'technically it's lunch, Swan...we slept right through breakfast.'_  - and they spent the rest of their morning together doing very little and wearing even less.  _(Their lazy Sundays become Emma's favorite part of the week, especially when they become a family of three...and then four.)_

When Emma gave Killian the 'grand tour' of her recording studio a few days after their reunion, he immediately grabbed a guitar, dramatically serenading her with ridiculously terrible lyrics until she was laughing so hard that her sides hurt. She joked that she'd never let him co-write any of her songs with lyrics and rhyming skills that bad, and she smiled to herself when she realized that she'd unconsciously changed her mind about leaving music. She'd been so sure that leaving the industry would be the only way she could find happiness and keep it, but Killian coming back into her life had proven her wrong.  _(Killian ends up co-writing half of her next album with her, and standing right by her side as she wins her first Grammy the same year. But all the beautiful lyrics pale in comparison to the vows he writes for their wedding day, and there's not a dry eye in the house.)_

A week later they faced their first public appearance together in the form of a red carpet and awards show. Killian had never attended such an event and Emma could sense his unease as she'd fixed his bow-tie from behind him in the hallway mirror. She smiled warmly, reassuring him that it wasn't really that bad, despite the fact that she'd always found them tedious at best. They were both pleasantly surprised at how easily they relaxed into the evening, and before long they were in their seats, giggling like children, leaning close to each other and whispering behind their hands. After one particularly amusing comment from Killian about how cruel Jewel's parents were naming her that, Emma snorted with laughter, earning her pointed looks from the more sophisticated, serious stars sat in front of her.  _(She'll remind him of that later when he tries to add Jewel to their baby names list. They end up calling their daughter Maggie Jane, and when they tell their siblings, both Mary Margaret and Jane cry. Their husbands tease them for it...until Liam David Swan-Jones is born a few years later.)_

Emma Swan had spent her whole life believing fairytales were for storybooks, not for real life. She'd never believed a happy ending was in the cards for her, never believed any of the lyrics of the lovesongs that shot to the top of the charts, or that magic could have a place in the world outside of Disneyland and the movies. Until she met Killian. He showed her that love could be magic when you'd found the right person to share it with, and that happy endings weren't really endings at all. Their story, after all, had only just begun.

_Fin._

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. Lilac Wine is officially complete. It's definitely been a journey, and this fic has been my child over the last two years. Can't believe I've really been writing it that long! Thank you so very much to those of you who have stuck with me, who have read and reviewed and kept my needy muse fed with feedback. I appreciate you guys so damn much.  
> A million gazillion thanks also to my bestfriend/beta/soulmate/sounding board/brain twin/everything - Lanni. We agonized over this chapter, and how to end it, so I really hope you've enjoyed it.
> 
> While this is the final chapter of the fic, I'm not opposed to taking prompts for follow-up one-shots in this universe, so if there's something you desperately want to see as a one-shot branching off from this fic that hasn't been included, or that has just been touched upon in the (future snapshot brackets), feel free to send me a prompt on Tumblr (blowmiakisscolin)!!
> 
> (Oh, and the song Killian sang was 'Beautiful Love' by The Afters.)


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